the list
by don't boop my nose
Summary: ally dawson's tired of being an "uptight bitch" as her ex, elliot, had called her before breaking up with her. with the help of her best friend's list and the hot blond who's sitting next to her in the airplane to miami, she looks forward to adjusting her "good girl" lifestyle and add a little spice to it.
1. Chapter 1

hello! i am back again. i missed you guys! i am back to reading and thought this would be great using austin/ally and adjusting it to their characters. this fic is definitely going to be rated M, starting from this chapter. it's going to be written in both austin's and ally's POVs. setting a timeline so you guys can understand a little bit better, austin and ally are both twenty-one years old (it's mentioned later on but just so you guys would understand). ally lives in new york and works for a record label writing songs for new aspiring artists, however, she decides she wants to change her lifestyle. and that is all you're getting from me for now! ;)

this is inspired by "no pants required" by kim karr.

i hope you enjoy! i'll be looking forward to updating every week!

* * *

Ally

Just the mere suggestion of karaoke gets everyone's heart pounding. Whether it's out of excitement or pure, blind panic depends on the individual and that person's frame of mind at the time.

The truth is that most people sing karaoke for the same reasons they go bowling— it's a fun activity and they can drink while doing it.

With that being said, perhaps some of the people that are here can get up and confidently belt out their most favorite song in the world with no concern for the eardrums they are perforating or the notes they are destroying. Unfortunately, I am not one of those people.

To be honest, I can't believe I even agreed to do this.

Then again, this is not where I thought I'd find myself tonight. This lounge may be packed full of eager-to-sing regulars, but my friends and I are not those people. We are here on a whim after a few too many drinks at a restaurant down the street.

Shuffling through the crowd, I stop when someone taps me on the shoulder. Thinking it's one of my friends, I turn around to see a tall, leggy brunette with the most vibrant green eyes staring at me. Her face is stunning.

She steps closer and right away I can see this woman is a bit young— my age, I'd say. "Do you mind if I get by?" she asks with one of those affluent tones I know all too well from my days in private school.

Without waiting for me to answer, she pushes past, and in her rush, steps on my open-toed pump.

Ouch!

I glare as her red Louboutin soles make their way to the front of the lounge.

"Come on," my coworker tosses over her shoulder, not at all bothered by the woman who brushed past her, too. "They found us a table."

Piper leads the way, and I follow, making sure not to step on any toes in the crowd. Finally, she stops at the only available table large enough for our group, which just so happens to be right in front of the stage.

Fantastic.

The white leather banquette is awash in the neon light emanating from the human-sized letters that spell the establishment's name across the back wall. The light is nearly blinding. I look at Piper. "Are you sure you want to sit this close?"

She hands me a menu of songs. "Yes, this is going to be great."

"Pour Some Sugar on Me" is coming to an end and once I've slid all the way across the bench, I look up to see a group of very pleased guys jumping off the stage in unison. The Def Leppard wannabes are staring at us.

This must have been their spot.

All clean-cut, all fuck-hot, all about my age.

The guy closest to me is wearing a red tie and has his black jacket slung over his shoulder. The others are dressed in dark suits too. Hmmm... either dressed up for an occasion or still dressed up after the occasion. Not a wedding, since it's a Thursday night. An office party maybe? Or perhaps this group of drunken men is here for a going-away party like mine. Who knows? Anyway, the guy with the red tie gives the eight of us girls a quick glance and a smile but doesn't stop.

He's cute. Really cute.

At least he doesn't seem to mind that we took their table. Then again, he's too focused on the guy without a jacket farthest away from me. "Austin," he calls out. "Don't bother with her." His warning is too late, though, because this Austin, whose white, rumpled shirt and blond hair are all I can see, is already allowing himself to be dragged away from his group by the brunette who practically ran me over minutes ago.

Fascinated by her assertiveness, I watch the two of them. I have to crane my neck to catch sight of them, and soon, too soon, they disappear into the crowd. Squinting my eyes, wishing I'd changed my dirty contact lenses, I search for them.

In a matter of seconds, though, it's not my poor eyesight but Piper who prevents me from locating them. She stands in front of me with a huge-ass smile on her face. "What song did you decide on?"

Giving a cursory glance at my choices, the perfect one is the first I see. "'Total Eclipse of the Heart,'" I blurt out and point excitedly at the same time. This song I know, and know it all too well.

Minutes later I'm being dragged up onstage by my friends and coworkers, and according to the screen, I'm about to sing a group rendition of "New York, New York."

Okay, I can do this.

I know this song. Not as well as "Total Eclipse of the Heart," but at least I know it. Besides, how hard can it be? I've sung it a million times—although admittedly mostly when I've been drunk.

Then again, I have had a lot to drink tonight.

The pressure is on. The eight of us gather around the microphone. The audience lights dim and a spotlight shines on us. I kind of feel like a star. No, I feel like Frank Sinatra himself without those penetrating blue eyes. But when the karaoke jockey asks, "Are you ready?" suddenly, I'm petrified. There is no way on God's green earth I am going to be able to hit the high notes.

The music starts. It's too late to back out. First, it's just the piano, but then the trumpet and clarinet join in. It's odd, but the familiarity of the sound eases my nerves. When the lyrics flash in front of me, all my worries are gone and I don't care anymore.

I let all of my hang-ups go and sing.

This, what I'm doing right now, is a glimpse into the old me. Somewhere between college and the real world, I lost that fun-loving girl, and I hope I can find her again.

Don't worry. I have a plan to do just that. Not only am I leaving the city I have loved for so long, but I'm also going to be moving far, far away, with no idea if I will ever be coming back.

It's how I hope to find myself.

My friends squeeze my shoulders, and we continue to sing the lyrics. Unexpectedly, they alter the words, and instead of talking about making it in New York, they tell the story of making it anywhere— in my case, Miami.

More than moved by this kind gesture, I gulp down the sorrow and move with them in a way that doesn't match the tempo at all. It doesn't matter, though, because they're right: "If I can make it here, I can make it anywhere."

God, I hope that's true.

There's a pause in the chorus and the piano melody quiets us all down. We're now standing in a straight line onstage and swaying back and forth.

Breathing for the first time in three months, regret isn't a word I am going to allow myself to say... out loud, anyway.

Yes, I admit it— I have a type A personality, which makes me hard to get to know and even harder to be friends with. Crossing my t's and dotting my i's will always be important to me. As is staying on a schedule. Making lists. And being organized. But none of that means I'm boring.

The sting of the word still hurts.

Elliot was wrong. Is wrong— I am not boring, and even though he is out of my life I am going to prove him wrong. No, scratch that— I am going to prove to myself that I can live my life wild and free, because truth be told, I may not be boring, but I am bored.

I need a change.

To find myself.

The chorus starts up again and although we sing about coming to New York, we all do so knowing that I'm leaving.

I still can't believe I'm doing it.

When my best friend, Trish, suggested on the phone, "Why don't you quit your job and move out here with me?" I nearly broke out in hives.

I thought, why would I do that?

My life was settled. I had a good job, an apartment, a healthy relationship. Then I remembered that my boss was an ass, my apartment was a sublet, and my relationship, well, it wasn't healthy anymore.

Once I let the idea of moving sink in, I thought, why not make a new start? At twenty-one, I can afford to make a change. I'll get a new job. Give myself a year. Who knows, maybe even find myself.

I have nothing to lose.

If Miami isn't the place for me, then I'll come back to New York. And if I have to, I'll grovel to get back my old job.

Completely oblivious to how this song ends, I mumble through it, laughing the entire time. When it's over, I'm the first to stumble off the stage. Soon after, my friends follow, and we all huddle together. The group of boys have reoccupied their seats.

"Let's sing another one," Piper suggests, practically jumping at the idea.

Another song does seem like fun. Karaoke is addicting. However, my bladder is about to burst. "You guys go for it," I tell her. "I'm going to use the bathroom and I'll hop in when I'm done."

"Stay out of trouble," she calls to me.

"Don't worry, I'll be good," I tell her and weave my way through the crowd toward the restrooms.

Trouble.

That's a laugh.

Even if I went looking for it, it would never find me.

Boring.

My life is that boring.

Wonder of wonders, there is only a very short line. Gleeful and relieved when I finally push through the bathroom door, I hurry to find an empty stall. The hard part comes next. My dress is tight, too tight to shimmy over my hips. With its large silver zipper running up the entire back, I have to use both hands to get it down. Getting it back up is just as much of a bother.

An episode of Sex and the City comes to mind. One in which Carrie Bradshaw finally accepts being alone and figures out how to zip her own dress.

If she could do it, so can I.

Channeling my inner Carrie, it still takes me a few minutes. And when I come out of the stall, the bathroom is jam-packed. I wait my turn for a sink behind two women whispering loudly about the tragedy of it all and how they don't blame him for leaving the city. Him. I don't know who they are talking about, but by the time the two women leave, even I feel sorry for this him.

After I wash my hands and dry them, I follow the surge of people down the dimly lit hallway. There are rooms reserved for private parties and with my feet killing me, I slip into an empty one to check my messages.

Strips of neon-pink bulbs along the perimeter cast an almost strobe-like effect in the room. Ignoring the fact that it's messing with my vision, I pick a booth out of sight of the door. My screen saver lights up when I pull my phone from my purse. It's of the Statue of Liberty.

I thumb across the picture and go directly to Google. Once there, I search for a picture of something that will have meaning in my new life.

Bingo!

More than satisfied with my choice, I save it as my new screen saver and start singing the song that the bright photo reminds of: "If you like piña coladas..."

With a smile on my face, I finish that verse and flip to my message. When I do, I see that I have a text.

 **Trish: Are you still out?**

Feeling on top of the world that yes, I am, I look at the time and smile. It's 12:35 a.m. And I'm still out. Having fun.

See, I'm so not boring.

Excited about this, I have to retype my reply three times to get the one word correct. Just as I go to hit send, my phone slides out of my grip.

Crap.

Camouflaged beneath the black tablecloth, I lie on the seat and reach onto the carpeted floor. The smoothness of the vinyl bench and soft material of my dress don't exactly see eye-to-eye, and somehow I end up falling to the ground. It's more than a little grimy and I'm more than a little grossed out. With my fingers curled around my phone, I'm about to get off this disgustingness when I hear the sound of voices and the door closing to the private room.

I freeze right where I am.

From under the table I can see two silhouettes. A man. And a woman. I can't see their faces from this angle, only their bodies. Just as I'm about to announce my presence, my eyes drift down to a perfectly shined pair of men's shoes and a very familiar pair of high heels. I know by the Louboutins that it's the brunette from earlier.

Like a cat, my curiosity is back.

And when she shoves the man against the door, I feel my heart start to pound. The man is likely Austin— the blond-haired guy she trampled over me to get to and then dragged away from his friends. Getting a better look at him, I can see that his body is taut with tension. A live wire, I think. Definitely an uptight suit.

Trust me— I know the type well.

Right now is when I should announce myself. Yet I don't. Instead, I cover the screen of my phone to shield its glare and watch for what she's going to do next. Maybe yell at him. Cry. Or even break up with him. She's a woman on a mission, and I feel an odd kinship with her because I've been there before.

As if releasing her rage, she rips his shirt apart, and I panic as the buttons jump across the carpeted floor and land very close to my table. The couple doesn't even seem to notice, though, because the woman is already running her palms up his smooth, muscled skin. When she bends, I think for a moment she might bite him or pinch him, and then tell him to go to hell, but instead she starts licking him.

Wait!

She was mad at him.

Wasn't she?

Had I gotten her body language all wrong?

From my downtown view, I can tell she's working his one nipple hard. His hands claw at the door behind him as if he needs the support, but his satisfied groans tell me he likes what's going on. When she moves to the other side of his chest, my gaze lands on a tattoo of a scrolling letter B right over his heart, and I think the brunette must be B.

She traces the scrolling letter. "I'm sorry, Austin. I'm so sorry," she whispers.

"Just shut up," he hisses, and I wish I could see his face so I could tell if he's angry or if he likes to be rough.

My thoughts are soon left in the dust because red soles are all I can see when she drops to her knees. Shocked, I have to use my hand to cover my gasp. This is not what I expected. Either way, it's too late for me to say a word.

Slowly, she unzips the fine fabric of his trousers, and I want to die.

I can't watch this.

Yet, I do.

The pink lights flicker over and around me, and if either of them looks toward the corner, they might catch a glimpse of my extremely bold, large silver zipper. Remind me why I suggested this change to the designer? Inching my way farther back, I make sure to blend in with my all-black attire.

"I want you," she moans with a harsh breath.

"You don't get to have me," he sneers at her.

"How about this, then?" she asks as she strokes his cock, which is still covered by his boxers, and then kisses it.

From the groan he makes, it sounds like he's battling himself. "You don't want to do this," he replies, and something in the sound of his tortured, low, creamy voice sets my blood on fire.

She ignores his response and yanks his pants and boxers past his knees. No pants required for this act. And then without any more preamble, she takes him in her mouth and sheaths him with her lips. I can't see his cock, but that doesn't mean I don't want to.

Really, I'm not a pervert. I'm not even the least bit kinky. In fact, I'm the opposite of kinky. I jill off with my fingers. I like sex missionary style, on a bed, at night, in the dark. And I'm not very good at blow jobs. I usually gag.

There's a dull thud against the door, and I imagine it is Austin tipping his head in pleasure despite the fact that he's mad at the brunette.

Why is he mad?

What did she do?

Who is she?

A random pickup?

His girlfriend?

I'm going with girlfriend. I feel like the intimacy she used to trace the letter on his chest meant something. What did she do to upset him? Spend too much money? Get tipsy at lunch? Refuse to spread her legs when he wanted her to?

The act continues. Her long, dark hair bobs. His shirttails practically cover her head. And then his tie whispers across the hint of skin I can see between the folds of fabric, and I start to feel a little overheated. None of that seems to bother her, though, as she works him with both her hands and her mouth.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

My eyes feel dry. I blink them a few times. Damn contacts. The movement of my head causes the gemstone around my neck to fall and hit the side of the floor.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Like a clock, it moves until I grab it.

Suddenly, the brunette stops what she's doing and looks up at Austin.

Did she hear it?

I stop breathing.

"You like it when I do this. Admit it," she purrs.

Phew. She didn't hear anything.

Angry or not, I know I don't imagine the sound of laughter he makes or the hand he puts on her hair as he pushes her head down. "In the condition I'm in tonight, any girl will do."

Soon enough the wet noise of mouth on flesh is the only sound besides my heavy breathing that I can hear.

"Fuck, that's good," Austin groans.

"I know how you like it," she tells him, looking up again.

Okay, so at least they're well acquainted. Again, I'm going with girlfriend.

Austin doesn't seem to want to look into her eyes, because he once again pushes her head down. "Who wouldn't?" he tells her, and for the first time, I hear the slur of alcohol in his voice.

Fascinated by the exchange before me, I'm more than aware that I shouldn't be watching this or listening to this private moment, but I want to know if being an asshole is how he gets off, or if Austin is truly mad at the brunette.

A light flickers under the table and I grab for my phone. It's another text from Trish, same as before.

 **Trish: Are you still out?**

More soft, wet noises cover up the vibration. Thank God I turned my phone to vibrate earlier. With the screen covered with my palm, I try not to move or even breathe.

Austin is making a lot more noises now. Groaning. Swearing.

Why are his sounds turning me on?

Feeling a way I know I shouldn't, I close my eyes, unable to watch anymore, but soon enough another thud against the door has me opening them just in time to see Austin's back arch.

I know he's coming by the way his body is reacting— the sounds he's making, the curve of his spine, the sudden thrusts he makes into the brunette's mouth. "That's it, right there. Don't stop. Don't stop. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck."

She swallows all of him to the last drop and from what I can see, she doesn't seem to have a gagging issue.

Lucky bitch.

Right now, I'm more than a little hot and bothered. I know what I'll be doing when I get home to relieve the ache I'm feeling.

The brunette rises and she wipes her mouth. I wish I could hand her a napkin. Soon after, she gets to her feet and I can no longer see anything but the back of her red dress.

She's the devil.

Or maybe he is?

"No," says the very male, very drunk, voice.

No.

No to what?

Oh, God, I hope she doesn't want to lay him down on the floor and fuck him, because if that happens, I'm so caught.

"No?" she repeats in a questioning tone.

"No!"

"Wait. Let me get this straight— you'll let me suck your dick, but you won't let me touch your mouth with my lips?"

Austin's polished shoes shuffle. He pulls his shirt together. Tucks it. Zips his pants. Then he moves away from the red dress in the high heels and opens the door. "I'm done letting you do anything else."

Well, that is just rude.

"Austin," she calls, sounding a little frantic. "Give me a chance. I want to make it up to you. I'll do anything."

"There's nothing I want from you— that's the problem."

"Then why let me do this?"

There is no answer, just his feet moving out of my sight.

"You're a fucking asshole!" she cries after him.

Those polished, very male shoes come flying into the room.

He steps very close to her. I imagine him tipping her chin up to look her in the eyes, although I can't see up that high. "Just so we're clear on this— I owe you nothing," he seethes, and this time when he leaves the room he doesn't return.

Ouch!

"But I still want you," she whispers, more to herself.

I think she's used to getting what she wants, and this Austin is it. I wonder how far she'll go to get him. Wish I could find out.

As if reborn, she wipes the tears from her eyes, takes a deep breath, and stands tall before she walks out of the room with a very steady stride.

Boy, does she put herself together quickly.

I could take a page or two from her "how to" book.

Hard to believe I just did that— watched a girl give a guy a blow job. Honestly, I didn't see much, just the back of her head, but still, that has to count as anything but uptight.

Right?

When the coast is clear, I grab my phone, finally press send with the one word, yes, to answer Trish, and make my way into the lounge. There is no sign of the brunette, and although I'm uncertain what Austin looks like, something tells me he's gone too.

"Happy" is playing and my friends are onstage moving like Pharrell Williams. Practically skipping toward them, I hop up and join in. Moving my hips, snapping my fingers, clapping my hands, I have no trouble belting out this tune all the way through.

"Clap along, if you feel like that's what..." I finish the song on a high note, with my hands together and a sense of being reborn myself.

What I watched in that private room makes me realize everyone has issues, and everyone has a way of dealing with them— beg, cry, get mad, say things that hurt, curl up into a ball, and even have sex. However you deal, at least you deal, and I've done my fair share of all of that.

I'm done dealing.

I'm ready for tomorrow.

Ready to start anew.

Be a hot-air balloon, just like the song says.

Within minutes of our grand finale, I'm drunkenly hugging my friends goodbye.

"Don't forget to call us!" they holler as I get into a cab.

"I won't," I answer, closing the window, and then turning around to wave goodbye as the taxi pulls away.

Slumping against the door, reality dawns. In less than twenty-four hours, I'll be on a plane to Miami.

I can't believe it.

I'm really doing it.

New start.

New life.

New me.

Miami, here I come.


	2. Chapter 2

i promised i would post a chapter today, i hope it's not too late! enjoy. x

also: thank you so much for your wonderful reviews!

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Austin

The more than tiny sprinkle of ice-cold water that lands on my face wakes me from my dream.

Blinking my eyes open, I shade the sunshine with my arm. "What the fuck, Cassidy?"

My older sister is standing over me with a smirk on her face and an open bottle of water in her hand. "I thought you were leaving this afternoon?"

Quickly sitting up on her small sofa, I look around for my phone. "I am. What time is it?"

"Way past your flight time, bro. Looks like you're staying."

"Why didn't you wake me up?"

Dropping her backpack to the floor, she shoots me a look. "I'm not your personal alarm clock. I had finals, remember? I just got home."

Realizing I fucked up, I relax and resolve to catch a later flight. "Right. How do you think you did?"

"Passed with flying colors, like always. Looks like I'll be graduating with my MBA at the end of the month."

Hating that she's not doing what she really wants to do, but what our father demands, I give her a sympathetic look and say the only thing I can. "That's great."

That glare she gives me warns that trouble is coming, and before I can stop her, she pours the rest of the water on my head.

I wipe it from my face and then glare at her. "Really, Cassidy, when are you going to grow up?"

With a shrug, she walks over to the counter to pick up her camera and then fiddles with the settings. "You're asking me that? Aren't you the one who stumbled in here drunk off your ass last night?"

My pounding head is the only reminder I need of last night's binge. With a cock of my head, I scratch my scalp. "About that. I'm sorry if I woke you up."

The camera pointing my way is something I'm used to when I'm in my sister's company.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

If that horrible gut feeling I have turns out to be true, if she goes to work for my father at The Moon Group, she will be kissing her passion for photography goodbye. Who knows, though, she might change her mind about working for him. And he might, just might, let her off the hook, though he wasn't willing to do so for my brother and me. The fact that I'm looking around her nice, one-bedroom apartment in the Village that my father pays for, even though he hates that she lives here, is the start of Cassidy being who she wants to be, not who he wants her to be.

According to our father, she should be living in Morningside Heights because it's much safer, and after all it's where he lived, where his father lived, and where my brother and I lived when we attended Columbia Business School.

Like every Moon since the beginning of time.

Really, though, I'm proud of my sister for standing up to him and living where she wants, not where he wants her to live, not what's convenient for him.

I hold my hand up. "Not now, please— the shutter noise is too much."

Snap. Snap. Snap.

"Cass, I said please."

That makes her stop. When she pulls the lens away from her face, there's an unusual look of sympathy in her eyes. "By the way, it wasn't you who woke me up. It was Brooke, when she wouldn't stop buzzing."

I rub my scruff again. "What are you talking about?"

She points to my duffle bag. "She wanted to talk to you. She settled for leaving you a present."

"You let her up?"

"I didn't have a choice. She was going to wake the whole neighborhood. Lucky for you, you were passed out. I have to admit it was rather funny watching her trying to wake you up, though. The harder she tried, the madder she got. She had all kinds of names for you. I don't know what you did, but you really pissed her off. I wanted to take her picture so badly, and then post it all over social media with the caption 'The ice queen fails.'"

Shaking my head, I can't help but laugh. "You never did like her."

"What was to like? She was always a stuck-up bitch whenever she was around me."

Standing, I ignore her and head toward the counter, where I spot a black photo album. "Is this your latest portfolio?"

Cassidy runs her slender fingers over the silver lining. "No, it's pictures of the three of us."

With that, I know it's time for me to go. "I'm going to hop in the shower. Do you think you could find me another flight to Miami?"

The camera never far from her reach, she raises it again and starts shooting. "Why don't you stay a few more days? I've missed you."

Hating leaving her, but knowing I have to for my own well-being, I try to lighten the mood by making faces. I stick my tongue out. Put my thumb to my nose and spread my fingers. Place my hands near my ears and wave them. All the while saying nothing that answers her question. She knows the answer is no.

"Be serious," she tells me.

"I'm hung over and not even showered. How serious can I be?"

"At least try."

I shoot her a glance and grin. "How's this?"

Cassidy lowers her camera. "Not much better. Go shower and I'll find you a flight."

I lean in and kiss her on the cheek. "You're the best."

Affection not really being her thing, or mine for that matter, she shoves me. "Get away from me. You smell like alcohol and her."

Her.

Right.

Fuck.

Grabbing my duffle bag, I head into the bathroom.

Cassidy's black dress is thrown on the floor in a heap, her high heels beside it. I run my hands through my hair.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

All it does is remind me of yesterday. Why I'm back. Slamming my hand against the wall, I'm so mad, I can hardly breathe. I want to scream, "Why, why, why," but it won't do anyone any good.

We all know why, or at least part of it.

And not wanting to go down that dark road, I strip out of my clothes from yesterday and step under the spray.

Leaning against the cool tile, I let the cold water wash away my nightmare. I need to get out of New York. It's toxic for me here.

The bar of soap is lavender scented and I shake my head as I lather up and wash away the scent of her, the feel of her, the very essence of her. Brooke was not what I needed last night and is not what I need now, or ever.

As the water grows warmer, my cock, a little behind the game, must realize it missed its chance at morning wood, and the rub-off it might receive in my effort to help the guy out.

Ever since I moved away from the city last Thanksgiving, I've had this need that never seems to be satisfied. No matter how many women, how many fucks, it's never enough.

Sex is just sex.

No feelings.

Don't get me wrong— I like it that way.

Yet every once in a while, I wish that when I find myself pulling out of a woman mumbling, "That felt fucking amazing," I could still feel that emotion after I walk away from her.

What happens next occurs before I realize what I'm doing. I close my eyes and gently rub, first around my cock, then my balls.

Fuck, that feels good.

Soon, I'm picturing a faceless woman— a hot body, another fuck. She's gripping me. Tight. Causing just enough pain to remind me that I'm alive. I turn her around and imagine driving my cock into her sweet pussy, over and over, and it makes me want to come hard and fast.

The thought has my fist pumping at a quicker pace and I lick the water from my lips. The pressure wells deep and a tingling radiates from my cock. As my orgasm starts to build, so do the contractions— it feels like electricity is shooting through me. My dick twitches and I can't hold on any longer. As I start to come, practically spasming from the tight grip, the incredible feeling builds. Finally, I let myself go, crossing that threshold over and over until I'm spent. My chest rises and falls, and I slouch against the shower wall.

Yeah, that felt fucking amazing.

Once my breathing returns to normal, I lather up with the lavender soap once again, rinse it off, and get out of the shower. I don't bother to shave.

Wrapping a towel around my waist, I wipe the steam from the mirror. I slick my hair back and stare into my own brown eyes, thinking that for just a moment, I saw myself there. The guy I used to be. My gaze lowers, and the ink on my chest is a constant reminder of the ways things have changed.

Forever.

That so familiar fury rips through me and I have to cast my eyes away.

When I reach inside my duffle for my clothes, I find the present Cassidy told me about.

I'd forgotten about that little ditty.

With a heavy sigh, I pull it out. Brooke has written my full name across the card. Austin Monica Moon.

The decision to open the gift comes out of sheer fuck you curiosity. Honestly, I'm wondering what kind of sex toy she thought would lure me back this time. It's as if she thinks sex is the key to my heart. How shallow does she think I am? Besides, we experimented with toys in the bedroom only a few times through the years, and overall I'd have to say our sex life was mostly vanilla.

Now suddenly after our breakup she decides to become this saucy vixen. It's almost laughable. The texts, messages, and gifts do need to stop. Let's see, aside from the X-rated text messages, the gifts are always extreme. She's sent me nipple clamps with the note "Can't wait for you to use these on me." She's mailed me handcuffs, with the memo "I'm yours for the taking" wrapped around them. And she's had delivered countless other items. The ones that didn't end up in the trash, I spitefully gave to the next girl I fucked to use for my pleasure.

Yeah, I admit I have anger issues.

Not sure what could possibly be left for her to give me except the key to her ass, I find myself shaking when I see the framed photo of my brother, her, and myself at my brother's graduation from Columbia two years ago in the box. Under the photo, etched in the silver, is scripted, The Three Musketeers.

Unable to stop myself, I slam it into the trash can and watch the glass shatter into hundreds of tiny pieces.

It takes everything within me not to call her and rip her in two. Fuck it. I won't give her the satisfaction of dialing her number.

Given the amount of time it takes me to calm down, I hope like fuck I can get to Miami tonight.

Throwing on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, I attempt to shake off the reaction and spend what little time I have left with Cassidy.

Coffee is brewing in the pot when I enter the kitchen, and my sister is sitting at the kitchen table with her laptop in front of her. I grab a mug and look over at her. "Find anything?"

Cassidy closes her laptop and smiles. "I did, there's a flight out of Newark tonight. That gives us a whopping eight hours together before you have to leave. So what do you want to do?"

"Let's get my ticket booked first, and then we'll decide." Searching for my wallet, I see it is on the kitchen table along with my phone and keys. Cassidy must have taken them out of my pockets last night. "Always taking care of me." I point.

"Someone has to." She grins, tucking a piece of turquoise-colored hair behind her ear. Just one small strand of individuality that I know she hides from our father when she sees him, but it's enough for her to make herself feel like she's calling the shots.

I let her believe that.

"Okay then, put my credit card info in and let's get something to eat." I rub my stomach. "I'm starving."

"About that," she says, rising from the table. "The only seats left were first class."

Over the rim of my mug, I study her. "You know I can't afford that."

Leaning against the counter, she crosses her arms over her chest. "Yeah, I kind of figured that, so I used my own card."

Glaring at her, I slam my coffee down. "He is not paying for my flight."

She steps a little closer. "Austin, you wanted to get back tonight and it was all that was available. Besides, he'll never know. He doesn't check my statements. And even if he does figure it out, he won't care. He'd want to help you."

With a deep breath, I remember that she doesn't really understand, doesn't know, so I make light of it. "I'm going to send you the money as soon as I get it, and I want you to put it on your credit card."

She rolls her eyes. "Whatever."

"You know I want to do things on my own, without his help."

Cassidy sighs as if annoyed by my quest for independence, and I wonder if not telling her was the right choice. "Okay then, since that is settled," she says with a smile, "let's go to Balthazar and then to Central Park so I can snap some pictures. Everything is in bloom and with finals, I haven't made it up there yet."

I eye her curiously. "I'm cool with the park, but Balthazar? Really?" I use my fingers to draw quote marks as I add, "'I can't handle all the snooty people in there.' Isn't that what you always say?"

Her middle finger looks me right in the face.

I grab it and push it down.

Feigning pain, she shakes her hand. "They have good food."

"Still, you don't like the atmosphere."

"But you love the food, so I will persevere. Are you going to make a stink about that, too, or can I do something nice for you just because I want to?"

Whether or not she's affectionate, and whether or not I am, I pull her in for a hug and kiss the top of her head. "You know I love you."

In very untypical Cassidy behavior, she hugs me back. "And even though you're an obstinate ass sometimes, you know I love you too."

The power of the words. Hard to say. Harder not to say back.

I chuckle throatily.

Then I do what I told myself I wouldn't and bring up a subject I know I shouldn't. "Do you mind if I invite Mom?"

When she pulls away with a scowl, I know she isn't happy. "Yes, I do."

I should have kept my trap shut. Still, I had to try. Hating the rift between them, I look into her eyes and say her name with a sigh. "Cass."

She narrows her eyes at me. "Don't 'Cass' me. She's the one who decided not to be a part of our family. Left us when we needed her. Got herself a boyfriend almost half her age, and moved to some artsy loft in Brooklyn."

Not wanting to go there, not willing to go there, to tell her all the ways we always shielded her from the truth, I do what I always do when my sister and I come to this juncture and back the fuck down. The reasons behind our parents' divorce aren't for me to tell. This I know. So instead of saying any more, I raise my hands in surrender. "Okay, forget I said anything."

"Already forgotten. Now let's go before our time together runs out."

I look at my watch. "We should have plenty of time."

"Not really. After the park, I was hoping to go the top of the Empire State Building. I have a new flash and I want to take some photos of the city for my portfolio."

"It's not like I'm going to say no, but fuck, with all the things you want to do, there's a good chance I might miss my plane."

She raises a brow. "Maybe that's my plan."

Fiend.

I shoot her a grin. "Sorry, sis, not going to happen."

"What's the rush?"

"I have a job."

Cassidy rolls her eyes. "You're a lifeguard."

Used to the jabs she likes to make, I ignore it, and poke her in the stomach. "It's still a job. More than I can say for you. Besides, I have all that sunshine and all those pretty girls waiting for me."

Turning on her heels, she tosses over her shoulder, "Whatever."

"No, seriously, I have to work tomorrow."

"I get it. I get it."

New York City might have once been my home, but not anymore. And Miami just feels like the place I can figure my life out.

At least there, I don't have any worries, there are no distractions, and I don't have any shit to deal with.

That's what I tell myself, anyway.

And sometimes I almost believe it.

Almost.

* * *

Ally

Proficient New Yorker that I am, I can navigate the subway like no one else, or hail a cab with a whistle in no time flat.

Seriously, I'm that good.

Standing in front of my apartment building with my four suitcases, today I'm practically on fire. Within mere seconds of my arm flying up and my hand waving in the air, a cab pulls to the curb. Then he looks at all of my bags and drives away.

"Hey, wait. I need a ride!" I yell.

Like he cares. He's long gone.

After three more failed attempts, I finally bribe one of the drivers with a hefty tip.

So much for proficiency.

Jockeying the luggage around, the reluctant driver manages to squeeze the two oversized suitcases in the trunk, one of the smaller bags in the front seat, and the last one in the seat next to me.

When I get in, I shove it over a little to buckle my seat belt. That's when the hem of my skirt catches on the cracked vinyl seat and tugs the fabric up a little too high on my bare legs.

Not quite panty-showing short, but close.

Fortunately, the driver doesn't seem to notice the flash I just gave him. "Where to?" he asks.

"Newark Airport," I tell him, and lean against the seat feeling a little sadder than I thought I would.

As soon as the driver hits the Lincoln Tunnel, I start second-guessing my decision to leave the city I grew up in. From financially secure for the first nine years and practically the complete opposite for the last twelve, it still has always been a constant for me.

Watching the skyline fade away once we're out, I can't help but recall how difficult that transition was.

Money sure changes how people act around you.

My father had lost everything in the dot-com bubble. He was a self-made man who built an empire, lived life large, and then skipped out on my mother and me when it all crumbled. To this day, I have no idea where he is, nor do I care.

Luckily for my mother and me, the Miami retailer Simon Warren had decided to launch their women's division on the East Coast around that same time and moved their head of operations, Valentina De La Rosa, to New York City. Valentina was in desperate need of help, and she hired my mother as her personal assistant.

That's how I met Trish— Valentina is her mother.

Such an amazing woman.

Then, when I was sixteen, my mother died unexpectedly of an aortic dissection— an aneurysm. I was left alone. And it was Trish's mother who stepped up and took me in. I have no idea where I would have gone had she not. More than likely, I would have had to move in with some mean, distant relative I'd never met. Thank God that didn't happen.

I stayed with the De La Rosa's until high school graduation. As soon as Trish and I moved into the college dorms, Valentina headed back to Miami. I think she held out in the city for longer than she wanted to. For Trish and me. I owe her so much.

Just as the cabdriver approaches the airport, my cell rings and jolts me from my memories. As I grab it from my purse, Trish's name flashes across the screen. "Hey," I answer.

"Hey," she says back. "Where are you?"

Horns beep as the cab speeds down the road. "On my way to the airport." I answer with a smile, and a secret from last night that I decided to wait to tell her about in person. She's going to freak when I tell her I was in the same room with a couple that was, well, doing what they were doing.

"Good, then you have some time," she says.

Wary, I check the time on my phone. "Not that much," I tell her with a little hiccup. I should not have taken that swig of soda that I drank for extra caffeine just before I left. Carbonation really does funky things to my body.

For some odd reason, the sound makes me think of Austin. Was he really an asshole or had the brunette done something to hurt him? There's something about him I can't forget. For a moment last night, I thought I shared a kinship with the brunette, but maybe it was really with Austin. It was the sound of his voice, angry and broken at the same time, that I can't let go of. Reminds me of me, I guess.

Trish laughs and I push the thoughts of the man I'll never meet out of my mind. "Okay, I think it's safe to say you have five minutes."

Eyeing the miles of taillights ahead, I answer with, "I'm sure I do. Why?"

"Did you make that playlist I told you to?"

I bite my tongue so I won't make a snarky comment. "Yes, Trish, I made the playlist."

There's a chortle-like noise coming through the line. "Let me hear one of the songs."

She doubts me.

But I know better.

Trish is a girl you never say no to because if you do, she'll beat you down until you say yes.

Tapping my screen, I pull up the futile task she assigned me to complete to help lift me out of my funk, and then I hit play. Sounds of Madonna fill the cab. A little horrified, I quickly hit stop.

"Oh, that's good," she says. Then adds, "I hope that dreadful song isn't included?"

She means "Total Eclipse of the Heart." I skip telling her it was my first karaoke choice last night. "No, it's not, but I have to admit, I had a hard time with this playlist."

"What?"

"I know it's almost impossible to believe that I'd ever put both the words hard and list in the same sentence." At least I'm admitting it.

Almost suspiciously, she asks, "How many songs are on it?"

"Twelve," I say under my breath. "And you can hear them all when I get there."

This time she claps. "Yay, I can't wait. Now it's time to move on."

"Move on?"

Oh no.

"Yes. I'm going to be emailing you something shortly, and I want you to get started on it right away."

Reluctance moves through me. "What is it?"

Trish and I were not only childhood friends, but also college roommates at NYU. Opposites in so many ways, but alike in others. I think that's why we get along so well even after being separated by thousands of miles for the past twelve months. The thing is, she hasn't changed, but I have, and not for the better.

Trish tried hard to make it work during college in New York City, but she was a Miami girl at heart, and after losing her tenth retail job, she hung it up and moved to the unoccupied bungalow her grandmother had left her in Miami. Now, she's a lifeguard and lives life for the fun of it.

Not exactly all grown up, but it works for her, for now, anyway. And I love her no matter what. She's not only my best friend; she's my greatest champion. But that also means she knows everything about me, and sometimes she has this need to push me beyond my threshold.

"I've been thinking about what you said," she offers up as bait.

Knowing better, I don't take it. "That's kind of vague. I've said a lot."

"You know what I'm referring to, Ally Dawson. About you being worried that everyone is going to think you're an uptight city girl."

I heave a heavy sigh. "Oh, that."

She giggles. "Yes, that. And I have a solution to ease your worries."

This time I laugh. "You have a solution? What? Do you think you're going to fix me?"

"Ally, you're not broken. All this shit is in your head because of Elliot, that fucker."

Tipping my head, I squeeze my eyes shut and try not to cry at the mention of my ex-boyfriend. "Trish, we've talked about this. It's not in my head. It's a fact, and no matter what I do, everyone is going to figure it out."

She doesn't argue, but her voice grows softer. "That right there, missy, is why you're going to prove to yourself you're not that uptight bitch you think you are."

The cabdriver slams on his brakes and I'm jerked forward. Abandonment of the city has its advantages because right now, his crazy driving skills don't bother me in the least. "And how exactly am I going to do that?" I ask with another hiccup. Damn soda.

"Glad you asked. You're going to do that by completing every item on the list."

"The list?" My ears perk up.

"Yes, the list." I can hear the smile in her voice.

She had me at the word list, and she knows it.

"I'm emailing it to you now. Look it over and be ready to talk about it when you arrive. See you soon. 'Bye."

"Trish, wait." It's too late. She's gone.

Moments later I receive a notification that I have mail.

Just then the cabdriver exits the turnpike; I go flying across the backseat and smash against my suitcase. My phone drops to the floor. Not again. Please not again. When I finally manage to find it on the grimy floor and pick it up, I open the email. All the body says is, "You can do this. One month. You so got it."

Clicking on the attachment, a nicely numbered list populates my screen.

How well she knows me.

I read it.

Sinking into the seat in embarrassment, I die a little more with each passing item. The list comes complete with notes. I scoff as I read them and laugh a little, too. Maybe I even throw in an eye roll here and there. When I finish reading it, I question my ability to complete the entire thing, but in my heart I know each item is doable.

Especially after last night.

With enough courage.

And maybe with a whole lot of wine, I can accomplish most of the items.

The driver stops in front of the airport. As I get out and step into the chilly night air of May, I breathe it in and smile.

While I wait for the driver to unload my bags, I look down at my phone. This list is designed for me to prove to myself that I am smart, sexy, and able to do anything I put my mind to. It also has a whole lot of Trish infused in it. Someone I used to be a lot more like until I lost sight of that girl somewhere between college and the real world.

Once I've given the driver a hefty tip, I check in and unload my luggage, and then I take a minute to sit down.

Moving is a big step. And I'm doing it. I'm really doing it.

With that, I read the list one more time.

1\. _Wear a bikini_ (out in public)

2\. _Have sex with someone you don't know_ (it will feel better than you think)

3\. _Fuck on the beach_ (crabs won't bite you)

4\. _Join the Mile High Club_ (it's fun and exciting, and besides, you will never see the guy again. Come to think of it, it should be number one. Do it tonight. Here's a little extra advice: Mark your target. Make eye contact. Give a small smile. A wink if need be. Then, when the plane is quiet, nod in the direction of the lavatory. The rest will take care of itself.)

5\. _Get drunk and let someone else worry how you're going to get home_ (and not me— you know I'm not responsible)

6\. _Give a guy the best blow job of his life and make sure he knows it_ (here's a tip: the harder you suck, and the more you moan, the more it will help convince him)

7\. _Get a vibrator_ (and use it)

8\. _Don't plan your day for the next thirty days_ (I promise you will be plenty busy)

9\. _Take a nude selfie_ (and look at it whenever you doubt yourself)

10\. _Read an erotic romance novel in public_ (you might learn a thing or two, and there's no need to be embarrassed)

Ten things to accomplish in a month.

How hard can it be?

Check them off the list, one by one.

No problem.

I'm good at that.

The song I sang last night comes to mind and I find myself singing it: "Clap along, if you feel like happiness is the truth."

And I do.

I've so got this!


	3. Chapter 3

sorry once again for updating so late! i swear next time i will update a day earlier or really early on friday for you guys!

thank you so much for your reviews, i know the past two chapters were pretty uneventful when it came to any interaction with austin and ally but here's the start of it!

enjoy. x

* * *

Ally

Airport security has never been my friend.

My bare feet feel cold on the industrial tile as I shove my sandals into the bin and push it along the roller toward the X-ray machine. My carry-on bag goes next, which is small enough to hold only what I need on the plane. Before I push it through, I quickly remove my sweater and add that.

As I walk through the scanner, I'm surprised when the alarm goes off.

It's my clothes.

 _Oh, Trish! Why did I listen to you!_

Wearing a sundress and a push-up bra isn't only a mistake; it has to be a bad omen for the flight ahead. Either the zipper or the underwire has set the metal detector off.

Once a wand is moved up and down my body and the alarm still beeps, I'm given two choices:

I can go to a private room and strip out of my clothes, which means get naked in front of a stranger, or I can concede to a full body search, which means a woman has to put her hands all over me.

Both choices suck.

Forced to pick, reluctantly I choose the latter.

Thank God, after that nightmare, I still have plenty of time blocked in my schedule to make a quick stop at the newsstand. Eager to get started on this list, maybe a little overeager, I buy an erotic romance novel, and then rush to the gate.

I hope I'm not too late.

Yes, I am one of those people. The ones who always arrive before everyone else and ask to board early. I do what I have to do to get on that plane. Upgrade. Stand in line way before the thirty-minute call. I've never pretended to be with child, but if I had to, I would.

It might be hard to understand, but flight organization is an absolute necessity for me. Whenever I fly, I have to be able to see outside, so I choose the window seat. I board early so I can tuck my carry-on bag in the overhead compartment directly above me. Once I've done that, I place my book and iPod in the seat pocket in front of me for easy access once we are in-flight. And then I buckle my seat belt before anyone sits next to me. Sometimes it's hard to find the buckle when someone is next to you. The space can be cramped and crowded.

The routine is a comfort thing.

Makes the flight less nerve-wracking.

This time, none of that is a problem, though, because I did something I never do and splurged on a first-class seat from New York to Miami. I've saved enough money to make it through the summer without having to worry about not having a job. And if something comes along— all the better.

Within forty-five minutes of arriving at the gate, I'm on the plane and enjoying a glass of wine.

This is so great.

The thought of turbulence doesn't even bother me. I'm in a much mellower mood than usual when the mass of people starts to flock by my row. Rather than panic, I sit back in the oversized cushion and relax.

In an attempt to appease Trish and check off number four— the join the Mile High Club item — I take a quick gander around the plane. If I am being honest, after last night I'm feeling a little horny.

It has been a while.

Okay, so to use Trish's term, there is no target in sight. Empty seats are across the aisle. An old woman is behind me. An old man is kitty-corner from me. A man with a ring on his finger is a few rows back. And a couple that might have just gotten married is in front of me. No single men.

Looks like I'll only be taking off, not getting off, high in the sky.

That is fine.

This stranger thing makes me a little nervous anyway. And that's not being uptight, just cautious. What if he turns out to be a crazy person? You never know.

Anyway, right now things are looking really good. No people are passing by my row any longer, the flight attendant has poured me a second glass of wine, and I have tons of room. So instead of worrying about marking my target, I make use of the extra space. Gleefully, I pull down the tray table that belongs to the empty seat beside me and set my glass on it.

The door is going to be closing soon and no one has sat beside me yet.

How lucky am I?

Emptying my front pouch, I lay my iPod on the empty cushion, nab my new novel, and am more than ready for the long flight ahead of me.

Minutes later, I am so heavily immersed in the opening steamy sex scene of my new book that I think the low, deep voice I'm hearing belongs to the hero in the story.

The words, "Hey, sorry, but I think this is my seat," aren't what I'm reading, though.

My head jerks to the right and I look up.

A shiver runs down my spine, and like a movie put on pause and play at the same time, everything seems to be happening in slow motion.

I scream.

Loud and embarrassingly.

The book in my hand closes on its own and drops to the floor with a thump.

My heart stops. My breath stops. My mind, for that one moment, stops.

And all of this happens because a very tanned, beach-looking Adonis is standing in the aisle with one hand on the overhead compartment at a point high enough to lift his T-shirt and give me more than a glimpse of his lean body.

The sight of him, all long, muscled limbs and smooth, sun-kissed skin, kick-starts my heart to life.

A sliver of moonlight filters through the small window and highlights the ridges of his ribs. The flatness of his stomach. The definition of his abs.

In my defense, his torso is at eye level.

And yet, I can't stop myself from allowing my gaze to dip even lower. Shamefully, as he struggles with trying to stow his luggage overhead, I practically study the sexy lines that fade into the waistband of his black boxers. Which just so happen to be riding low on his hips. And as if that isn't enough, I stare at the jut of his hip bones, and then my eyes widen when I see the faint trail of hair below his belly button on his otherwise hairless body.

The thud-thud of my fast-beating heart has to be heard throughout the plane. Oh, wait, I think that is the wind-like noise of the air conditioning. Then again it could be both.

Something glimmers and my eyes become fixated on the dull metal of his buckle. I wonder for a split second if his low-slung jeans would remain on his hips without that worn belt.

Licking my lips at the thought is done completely mindlessly.

Then again, jeans.

He's wearing jeans.

And they are not just any jeans.

These jeans are worn, tattered, and torn— and they look incredible on him.

Seeing him struggling, the bubbly blonde flight attendant rushes over to him. I can't read her name tag. She looks like a Tiffany. I'll go with that. "Sir, can I help you?" Tiffany asks with a flirty smile and a tone that makes me wonder if she isn't looking to join the Mile High Club herself.

Before turning to look at her, he glances my way. Dropping his chin, he peers over his shades and raises one sexy-as-hell brow. "She called me 'sir,'" he says with a smirk.

His words might cause my stomach to flutter, but it's that wolfish grin that makes it feel like it's going to take flight. I'm sure that look gives all women butterflies. No, I'm sure it does more than that, because right now I kind of feel all hot and bothered.

What the hell?

As if used to all the attention, there's almost an air of arrogance about him as he twists and directs his attention to the flight attendant.

For a moment, I feel a sense of déjà vu.

Unable to place it, I shove it aside and try to retract my fangs. I don't really have fangs. Just his movement toward her, though, makes me wish I did. I want to grab him and pull him back.

Crazy.

He surprises me when he declines her help. "Thanks, but I got this," he tells her.

Once Tiffany saunters away, he continues to twist and turn in such a way that does nothing to hide how sexy he is. Hopelessly he tries to shove his bag into the overhead compartment. Not going to happen. Finally, giving up, he saunters toward the front. Wow. His body. It is amazing. Up there he finds a place for his oversized duffle bag, but it is more than a few rows ahead of us.

I hope he doesn't forget it.

See, that's why I board early.

The sound of the engines starting make it hard to hear and I can't quite make out what he is saying to me when he returns. However, as I replay the movement of his lips over and over in my mind, I decide it sounds an awful lot like, "Do you like what you see?"

Caught red-handed, he knows I've been staring.

And he's calling me out on it.

Who does that?

The slow motion of the movie I feel like I've been watching in my head hits real time. Suddenly, the beach-like God morphs into more of a beach bum, and still I think that in the most delicious way.

Cocky bastard!

Stunned by his arrogance, "Really? You're serious?" is all I can manage.

That look, the cocky one, remains in place. "No, not really," he responds. "I don't like it that much," he adds, and his mouth remains quirked.

Obnoxious prick!

Is he that full of himself that he's looking for backhanded compliments, like I'm some floozy who's going to stroke his ego and say, "Oh, what's not to like?" or "You're so hot, how can you say that?"

Whatever.

Done with him, I turn away.

"May I?" he says, his voice dipping low as if sharing a secret.

Swiveling my attention toward him, I notice he is still standing in the aisle. Annoyed, it takes me a moment to figure out what he's doing.

He's pointing to the lowered tray at his seat.

Red flushes like crimson flowers across my face as I rush to grab my wineglass and slam the tray table closed. Once that's done, I reluctantly lift my gaze, and with his proximity, I can see his face so much better.

With a look of bemusement on it, he's glancing down at me, and that face is just as breathtaking as the rest of him. Strong jaw. Sexy, sexy lips. Sharp, perfectly shaped nose.

There's a crackle over the speaker. "Folks, there's a slight delay. We're finishing up some last-minute paperwork, but should be underway shortly..." the pilot is telling us, and this beach God is talking again.

I can't hear the pilot.

Is something wrong with the plane? Not to be rude, but why won't this guy be quiet? The announcement might be important. By the time it's done and I refocus on him, I have no idea what he is saying.

Right now, though, I have no time to worry about what is coming from his full moving lips. I don't even try to decipher his words, because I am too busy preparing myself to combat my fury.

As if going to war, I purse my lips and narrow my eyes at the same time. I have always camouflaged awkward situations with anger, which is one of the reasons why people think I'm a bitch.

This time is no different.

And when I fire, I do so with full force. "If you wouldn't have surprised me like that, I might have thought to clear your space. An 'excuse me' is all you needed to say."

I'm loud. Too loud. Everyone is looking at me. And it comes out much snippier than I had intended.

That blond hair looks windblown but perfectly tousled, and it kind of pisses me off. He would have to have hair like that. This time when he speaks, I can actually hear him. "I did say that." He laughs a little ruefully. "A couple of times, as a matter of fact," he adds in a much nicer tone than I deserve.

Anger transforms into panic. "What exactly did you say?"

He points to my glass. "You mean when I asked you if that was for me?"

Okay, so it wasn't do you like what you see.

My lip-reading skills need improvement.

This is bad.

Really bad.

Mortified, I'm desperately hoping he doesn't find another seat. In fact, I do my best to ease out of this awkward situation. I give him what I hope is an endearing shrug instead of the wrath I had originally intended to bestow. Honestly, what I want to do right now is disappear into the crack between my seat and the window. "Sorry, I didn't hear you."

Next time I get my eyes checked, I think I need to have my hearing checked, too. Do poor eyesight and bad hearing go hand in hand as you get older? I am almost twenty-two. I'd better find out.

Obviously opting to remain in his assigned seat and not move across the aisle to the empty ones, that hotter-than-sin body and beautifully groomed hair folds itself into the seat beside me, and as soon as that fine ass hits the cushion, he tilts his head my way.

The shiver that runs down my spine startles me. I can't remember the last time my body reacted like this to a stranger. If I were forced to come up with that answer, I'd have to go with a very long time ago.

Those eyebrows rise so much that they arch like angel's wings. "Don't worry about it. You seem nervous."

Honesty is best at this point. "Well, maybe a little."

Again with the eyebrow raise, and can I just say, he can do that on repeat. It's super sexy.

"Okay, so flying gives me a lot of anxiety," I confess.

"Are you a white-knuckle gripper?"

White-knuckle gripper?

Isn't that some sort of sex toy?

Shocked that he'd ask, I furrow my brows. "Beg your pardon?"

He guffaws, tilting his head with the force of it. "Do you grip the armrest for at least half the flight?"

Nothing dirty. I have to think about his question, though. "You know what? I'm not sure."

"I want to know so I can make sure to keep my arm out of reach. Scratch marks aren't really my thing."

So dirty just might be what he is going for.

At that, I raise a brow back. This is going to be fun. I just need to shed my uptight skin. I don't know this guy. He doesn't know me. I'll never see him again. With that, I find myself spouting at the mouth. "I hate flying because I'm scared of heights... or, more specifically, falling. I don't like bungee jumps, being near ledges, or even looking down from a tall building. It sets my heart racing and gives me a little vertigo. And sometimes on bridges, I need to walk on the inside of the sidewalk and look down at the ground to get across."

Now he looks sympathetic. "My sister is afraid to fly. Her solution is to pop a Xanax as soon as she boards. It usually holds her over until landing."

"I thought about it," I admit.

His eyes are still hidden by the dark frames of his Wayfarers, and I really want to see them.

"Can I get you something?" the blonde flight attendant asks him. The way she looks at him, I'm surprised she doesn't say, "Coffee, tea, or me?"

He glances toward her. "Yeah, sure. I'll have a Corona with a lime and a couple bags of peanuts."

She reaches in her pocket and hands him two bags of Planters. "Here you go. And I'll be right back with that beer."

She's off in a jiffy, eager beaver that she is.

"Miss," he calls.

She turns.

"Some chocolate, too, if you have any."

Her responding nod is almost seductive.

"Thanks," he tells her and shoves one of the bags in the pouch in front of him. The sexy stranger then rips open the other bag and pours some of the peanuts in his palm. "Here, have some of my nuts."

Nervous laughter spouts out of me and even though I'd never eat out of a stranger's hand, I find myself considering trying his nuts.

Yes, I thought that.

The rakish tilt of his lips mesmerizes me as he continues to hold out his palm. "Come on, you know you want to try my nuts."

Aha! He is _so_ trying to be dirty.

Still, it makes me laugh enough that my wineglass starts shaking in my hand. "Oh, no, that's where you're wrong. My mom taught me never to take food from a guy I don't know."

Emptying all the peanuts into his palm, he crumples the empty bag and shoves that into the pouch, too.

I hate when people put their trash there, but it doesn't seem to bother me right now because I'm a little preoccupied watching him.

As if he has a secret, his lips tip up a little more. He has the best smile. Unexpectedly, he pinches one of the peanuts and lifts it. "It's 'don't take candy from strangers.'"

There's a hush in the air. It takes me a moment to find my breath. "Right. That's the saying."

His hand moves closer to my lips. "First of all, this isn't candy, it's protein, and I doubt your mom ever told you not to eat protein."

My breath hitches. "No, she didn't."

"And secondly, we're not strangers. We're seatmates. I don't know who you think I am, but I wouldn't offer my nuts to just anyone."

Laughter roars out of me.

Somehow he manages to stop himself from completely losing it. With his smirk in place, he's determined to get me to eat this peanut and moves his fingers even closer. "Come on, try it. You know you want to."

As shocking as it seems, I find myself opening for him, and he drops the capsule of protein right on my tongue. For one brief second I imagine taking his hand and holding it to my mouth so I can lick the salt off his fingers. Oh, geez, what is wrong with me? Last night must have gotten me more worked up than I realized.

"Good, right?" he breathes.

Feeling flushed from head to toe, I give him a nod while chewing, then I swallow.

When I do, I start to choke. The peanut is stuck. Oh, this can't be happening. Coughing profusely, I try to unlodge it and force it up.

Concern flashes in his eyes. "Are you okay?"

I nod and manage to say, "I'm fine. Just went down the wrong pipe."

No longer concerned for my safety, he asks, "Trouble swallowing my nuts?"

Still chocking, I have no choice but to spit the peanut into my cocktail napkin.

Real lady-like.

His eyes are on me. I can feel them.

When I look up, there's a coyness about him.

That grin turns devilish. "I'm sorry you choked on my nuts, but you might want to work on your gag reflex."

Dirty, dirty, boy.

"What would I do without your wit?"

He quirks a brow and sits back. "You know you prefer me sitting next to you than sitting alone."

"You think so, do you?"

"I know so. I mean, come on, you've already eaten my nuts and we're still on the ground. Who knows what will happen when we're in the air. With me by your side, you won't have any time to think about being nervous."

There is a dip in my belly, and we haven't even taken off yet.

"Here you go," the bubbly blonde says, handing him his bottle and a bag of M&M's.

The beach bum turns to me. "Would you like some? I can get a glass," he says, offering his bottle.

I shake my head. "I don't like the taste of beer."

"Really?"

"Really. Anything carbonated messes with my stomach."

With a shrug, he shoves all of the nuts in his mouth and then takes the items from her with a thank you. I want so badly to mention something about him eating his own nuts, but can't find the right thing to say.

I'm so unfunny.

Once he's downed his drink, he sets the candy on his lap and whips those sunglasses off. In the pouch they go, too.

Tiffany is beside him instantaneously. "I'll take that," she says. "Would you care for another?"

He hands her his bottle. "After takeoff would be great. And another for my seatmate then, too." He points to my partially filled glass and then that insanely sexy stare lands on me.

Clearly he knows what he is doing to me, because he looks me over from head to toe with his hazel eyes.

When his gaze lands on my own, our eyes lock, and the air practically crackles around us. What is going on here? Trish has me all worked up over this list and now I have sex on the brain.

His gaze lingers on mine, and I swear I see his own breathing pick up.

Inwardly, I am proud of myself for having taken the time to do my hair and for not wearing sweats. Unfortunately, I have no game and shiver under the intensity of that penetrating stare.

As his eyes land on my feet, he points to my book, which for the first time I notice landed in a way to display the cover and title perfectly. "Let me get that for you," he says.

No.

No.

No.

This isn't happening.

This can't be happening.

The picture of two men and a woman in an embrace is in plain sight, and the title, Summer's Ménage, and author's name, Sandy Cox, are clearly visible. "No, no, I got it," I say anxiously, diving for it like it's my last meal.

It's too late. Our heads collide, and the small amount of wine I have left in my glass spills all over his hair. Making things worse, when he sits up, he has my book in his hand, cover facing him.

No. No. No.

 _Trish, I'm going to kill you. Kill you!_

This time, when he looks at me, I feel like he's assessing me. Sizing me up. Wondering just how kinky I am. "Sandy Cox," he quips with a raised brow.

I am dying.

Dying.

Obviously a pen name with a play on the location of the book. Odd, I hadn't noticed that before now.

A million deaths pass before I can glance at him.

Bemused, he shrugs and with the most adorable teasing grin says, "I haven't read this one yet. How is it?"

There are no words for the mortification I'm feeling right now.

Trying to stop what happens next is completely useless. Rubbing his wine-dampened head, he smirks at me, and then opens the book.

I want to grab it from him, but that will only make things worse, so I try to deflect. "I'm sorry about spilling my wine on you."

There's a glint in his eyes. "Don't worry about it, but I have to tell you I don't think I've ever gotten my head wet this early into the game."

Trembling from his suggestive tone, I say to myself, "Game?" Then it sinks in and I think, _Okay, yes, this is a game_. And believe it or not, I want to play. Game on.

"Cabin crew, prepare for takeoff," the pilot's voice booms overhead.

Tiffany is at our row and taking my glass, a little too late.

Perhaps thinking he's won round one, my seatmate starts to read the first line— out loud. "'Gabe was salty. Owen was sweet.'"

I feel an odd shiver.

His voice is low, deep, thick, and oozes with more and more sex appeal as he continues to read. "'The beginning of the summer heat meant the windows were open. Summer VanVoreen let the cool breeze waft over her as she sat on the bed and examined her choices. She had come to Montauk alone, as she did each summer. And like each summer before, she knew she wouldn't spend it alone. That time, though, she had gone into town and brought two men to her isolated beach home, not one. Her gaze shifted between the two of them. It first went to Gabe, who had a warrior-like body, and then to Owen, whom she thought looked more like a king. They were both incredibly good-looking in their own way and very fit. She had a choice to make, but she couldn't pick just one, so she decided to spend the summer with both. Should they both agree to her proposition, of course.'"

Heat and tingles of arousal shoot through my core. How can this be happening? I'm a thousand shades of red and a million degrees at the same time. I can't let him go on. I know what is coming next.

Sex.

Lots of it.

One woman.

Two men.

Keeping it together, while internally dying, I place my hand over the page. "Story time is over, big boy."

His hand covers mine and I swear electricity courses through me. "Oh, I'm only getting started. This book is going to make for one interesting flight."

Nabbing it, I quickly tuck it in my seat pouch. "You can't read this book out loud. People are listening, and this flight is PG."

He leans toward me and his hot breath trails across my neck. "Then I'll whisper."

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to direct your attention to the television monitors. We will be showing our safety demonstration and would like the next few minutes of your complete attention."

Saved by Tiffany.

Taking a deep breath, I blow it out and direct my attention to the screen. "When the seat belt sign illuminates, you must fasten your seat belt. Insert the metal..." My mind wanders to my seatmate and his voice. There's something so familiar about him.

He nudges me. "Pay attention."

How'd he know I'm not? I refocus.

"There are several emergency exits on this aircraft..."

The minutes pass slowly. "Oxygen and the air pressure are always being monitored. In the event of a decompression, an oxygen mask will automatically..."

Nervous, I draw in a deep breath. If that ever happens to me, I'm not sure how I'll react.

My seatmate shifts. His body heat radiates as he leans closer to me. He smells like lavender and sea air. An odd scent. Still, I find myself taking another deep breath.

By the time the safety movie finishes, the plane is moving down the runway.

"Fuck, that was boring. Give me that book back."

I laugh. I shouldn't like the way the word fuck sounds coming out of his mouth, but I do. "No way."

His gaze swivels to mine. "But I want to know what happens."

I bite my lip in contemplation. Story time could be fun. Then reason sets in and I whisper, "You'll have to buy the book to find out."

The plane gains speed.

I grab for the armrest.

His gaze lands on my hand and he says nothing else as the plane moves faster and faster down the runway.

The color in my cheeks feels like it is finally waning. I think I'm good now, other than the fact that I'm terrified.

Glad for the silence, I press my head into the seat and close my eyes. Soon enough the plane is climbing and I feel like the air inside my brain is expanding.

Too much wine.

When my head starts to spin a little, I squeeze the armrest even tighter.

My worries about the plane crashing seem amplified in my somber state, the what ifs firing like missiles through my brain.

What if the pilot has to perform an emergency landing in a field and it's not long enough? What if the plane starts to go down over water and we are all sealed inside? What if we crash into a building and ignite into a million flames?

What if...

What if...

What if...

His arm touches mine. "Hey."

Through one eye, I look over at him.

"Squeeze my arm if you have to," he whispers.

We smile at each other, drawn together by our mutual understanding over my fear of flying.

"I don't want to leave scratch marks," I tease.

He leans even closer. "Go ahead and make your mark. I can take it."

Unless I am totally off base, he's talking about more than my fear of flying.

Closing my eyes tighter, all I can think is... _I plan to._


	4. Chapter 4

as promised, here's the next chapter! this is way lengthier than the other ones.

thank you so much for your reviews i hope you enjoy! x

* * *

Ally

Falling asleep has always been a challenge for me. I lie awake thinking about things that don't always make sense.

Pondering.

Worrying.

Wondering, what if.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has turned off the 'fasten seat belt' sign, and you may now move around the cabin."

Confused, I open my eyes.

No way. I fell asleep... and on a plane.

That has never happened.

Yet, as I look around, it's obvious that time has passed. The cabin lights are dimmed, seats are reclining, and the flight attendant is just approaching my row with a tray of drinks.

Surprised by the quiet, I look toward my seatmate. His eyes are closed and his hand is gripping the armrest just below mine.

Hmmm... either he's really tired or he doesn't like flying either.

Against my better judgment, I take this time to study him more clearly. His thick eyelashes are beautiful. The scruff on his face looks as intentional as his messy hair, and just as mouth-watering. I might have been wearing my wine goggles earlier, but right now I know he is fine.

"Here you go." The bubbly Tiffany hands me another glass of wine.

"Thank you," I answer, trying to be quiet while I pull down my own tray table.

My seatmate's eyes open.

Tiffany looks at him with a huge smile. "Here's your beer, sir."

"Thank you," he says in a super-sexy, gravelly voice.

I consider whether I should close my eyes again and avoid any further conversation, or talk to him and see where this goes, if anywhere.

Just then, perhaps still a little groggy, he sets his bottle on my tray table and stretches. God, the power he seems to command in the small space has me tingling from head to toe. And again, I find myself staring at that body of his.

When his arms return to his sides, his hips surge forward. I can't help it. My eyes go straight to his crotch. Oh my God, what is he doing?

Kegels?

How bad is it that I join in?

One.

Two.

Three.

The moan that escapes my mouth snaps me back to reality.

Enough is enough. I need to unplug from this situation before anything else embarrassing happens. Yet, I can't. All I can think about is scratch number ten of the list— here is my chance to go back and check off number four instead.

And he has to be all for it.

Right?

After all, he's doing pelvic exercises to improve his stamina in this game. They say you can do them anywhere. And he seems to subscribe to that philosophy. He obviously doesn't realize I'm watching him.

That voice is smooth like molasses and startles me from my sex thoughts. "I think this belongs to you."

My gaze darts from his hips to his hands.

He's holding my iPod, which had been under his butt.

Okay, so he wasn't doing Kegels.

I forgot all about that little thing.

My mind is still replaying the way his hips moved, and my delayed reaction gives him enough time to turn it on. My earphones must still be on his seat because as soon as he swipes across the screen, "Like a Virgin" blares through the cabin.

Seriously, could this flight get any worse?

My seatmate is grinning like the cat that just ate the canary. "Eighties? Wow, I didn't think anyone listened to that anymore."

To that I have no defense, and the truth sounds better than any concocted lie. "It's on my Songs About Me playlist," I admit.

He grins even harder as the lyrics continue to play.

Without hesitation, I pluck my iPod from his grip and turn it off. "What can I say— I love Madonna. Hair pulled back in a bow, black tank tops, necklaces, and bracelets are my thing."

A brow rises, slightly, but I catch it and those little butterfly wings start batting against my belly again. "Your thing, huh?" He seems to ponder that for a moment; either that or he is picturing me singing the song.

My whole body tightens at the thought of doing just that— for him.

Leaning toward me, he tries to snatch my iPod back. "Can I see what else is on your Songs About Me playlist?" He stresses the words _songs about me_ , but not in a way meant to make fun of it, more in an _I'm really interested in this_ tone.

I shake my head no.

"Come on, hand it over. Otherwise, how am I going to learn what else is your thing?"

With a slight shrug meant to be sexy, I answer, "That's top-secret information. If I tell you, I might have to kill you." And then I tuck my iPod, along with my book, in the seat pocket in front of me.

The flirty, sassy side of me is back.

I like it.

"That's a chance I'll have to take." My seatmate is determined, and he swoops his hand right over my tray table but instead of snatching my iPod, he takes my book.

The cabin is dark, really dark, so I don't bother to try to retrieve it. He won't be able to read. But like I said, he seems determined and solves that problem rather quickly.

Turning the overhead light on, he grabs the bag of M&M's, opens them, pours them on my table, then leans closer to me.

I sip my wine and watch him as he separates the M&M's in two piles. I like the way he moves with determination. It's a turn-on.

When he's done, he picks up his bottle.

I look down and see he's given me all the dark M&M's and taken the colored ones for himself.

"Do I want to know?" I ask in amusement, pointing to the two piles.

Taking a sip of his beer, he grins. "Just making sure you don't end up with any of the green ones. You know what they say about those."

My eyes fixate on the way the liquid goes down his throat, the way his Adam's apple moves as he swallows, the way his chest rises and falls. Picking up one of his green M&M's, I look at him and pop it into my mouth. "I do know what they say."

That intake of breath is unmistakable.

Settling beside me, he tosses a few in his mouth from my pile and starts reading. "Completely bare, Summer willingly spread her legs and allowed the men to devour her.'"

I squeeze my thighs together. Wow. Who would have thought a guy reading to you would be such a turn-on?

My seatmate's cheeks look a little flushed. His voice sounds a little raspier, too, and yet he continues to read. Upon finishing chapter one, he pauses to take a sip from his bottle and then looks over at me. "This is good stuff. You are a very interesting person."

My breathing a little erratic, I ask, "What do you mean?"

His laugh is low and slow and a little drowsy. "Going from a virgin to porn in an instant."

Now my flush is creeping up my chest and turning my face pink. "It's not like that. I'm trying to find myself. Who I want to be. Should be. Who I really am. Maybe who I used to be."

I should add that this novel is considered erotica, not porn, but I don't. Does it really matter? Either way, the air between us is almost dripping with sexual tension.

My comment seems to hit somewhere deep within himself. For a moment, his face goes blank. "I get it," he tells me before resuming his slouched position close to me.

So close.

So hot.

I can barely breathe.

A pocket of turbulence doesn't even make me panic. In fact, the plane ride has been a little rocky this entire time and I'm not bothered by it in the least.

In half a minute our arms are touching again and our faces are soon very, very close as he whisper-reads to me. By the time he gets to chapter three, we've each consumed two more drinks and eaten the entire bag of M&M's.

We shared the green ones.

My seatmate's voice continues to melt me as he turns mere words into gooey caramel. "'While Owen buried his face in her pussy and ate her like he was feasting on her, she took her time with Gabe, drawing out his orgasm until he begged.'"

As crazy as it sounds, I find myself mouthing the words along with him. Pausing just before Summer has her climax, I have to lick my lips. My throat feels so dry.

Our breathing is very loud. His and mine. It seems to combine and could quite possibly be combustible.

My seatmate makes a noise and bites down on his lower lip. I catch a flash of teeth when he does. His hair has also fallen forward, and it shields his gaze. Sitting up straighter, he closes his eyes and shuts the book. "I think we should stop for a while."

"Yeah," I tell him in a hoarse, low voice I wish didn't shake.

This thing developing between us can go nowhere. We're strangers who will never see each other again. Still, I feel like that doesn't matter. I don't want to worry about that. I don't want to know his name or where he lives. I only want to live in the moment.

Free.

Easy.

Never the aggressor, I find myself being one. I envision myself as Summer from the novel and lean in toward my seatmate. His eyes are closed and I stare at his gorgeous profile. I'm not touching him anymore, but I can still feel his warmth against me. This close, I can smell his scent. I breathe it in for a moment and I swear I can taste him. The urge to do so has never been greater. Just stick out my tongue and lick him like a lollipop. Wonder if he'd mind? Oh, God, the thought has me gasping for air. The noise I make isn't intentional, but loud enough that he opens his eyes.

He breathes out, "Do you want...?" He leaves the question dangling.

Yes. I want.

I swallow. Nod. Then nod again. He shivers. Looks at me. Looks around. No one is across from us. No one can see us. Closing my tray table, I find myself moving even closer, drawn to him in a way I can't explain. Still, he doesn't move. Uncertain I read the signs right, I start to lean back in my seat. He captures my wrist, and I let him pull me close.

Inches apart, I look into his eyes and make certain he sees that I want what he wants. Hot, sweaty sex, no strings attached.

Reaching up, he turns the overhead light off. Now we're in the dark. I can't be certain who initiates the next bit. Him? Me? Who knows? All I know is that my hand is on his cock and his is over my hand. Even beneath the fabric of his jeans, I can feel his erection. It's so big. Hard, long, and thick. And big. Did I mention that?

Losing myself in the feel of him, I'm helpless to do anything but move forward. To do this thing I had never truly envisioned myself doing. I'm not a prude or anything, but I usually wait until the third date to do anything below the waist.

Angling just right so no one can see us, he takes my free hand and puts it behind his neck. I find my fingers instantly curling around his soft locks. And my fingers seem to have a mind of their own — tugging a little, and a little more. So unlike me. Summer must have me all riled up. When I tug again, he grits his teeth and makes a strangled gasp. That feeling of déjà vu hits me once again. I can't place it. I don't want to try. I don't care, because I've never felt like this before. So powerful. Like every touch I make arouses this man more and more.

A hand cups my breast. His palm is warm. He brushes a finger across my nipple. I'm so excited, I think I might need mouth-to-mouth. When the pace of my breathing picks up with his slightest touch, I have to close my eyes.

"Look at me," he demands.

In an instant, I do.

Seconds pass. Neither of us moves. Somehow sitting here in the dark cabin, saying nothing, with our bodies touching feels as if it is the most natural thing in the world.

My mind is racing.

I wonder if his is, too.

My pulse is pounding.

I know his is, too.

I want to say something.

Desire runs thick through my veins.

What do we do next?

I wish Trish were here so I could get her advice.

Finally, I speak. "What are," I ask with a quaking, shaking voice, "we doing?"

As if he's been holding all the air in his lungs, the breath hisses out of him. "Acting out the scene in the book. You're Summer, and why don't you pretend I'm Gabe."

"Not Owen?" I rasp, totally turned on right now.

His grin melts me. "It's a hard choice; I'd like to think I'm both men combined. How about I let you decide?"

At that my blush turns scarlet red. His words come across so cocky, I should laugh at him, but instead I find myself so wanting to find out.

When it comes to men, I literally have no moves. But something about the night's events has coalesced into a temporary insanity, on my end anyway, and I find myself unable to shake the thought of having him inside me.

Just like the way you can be standing at the edge of the high dive one second thinking to yourself, I can't do this, it's too high, and the next thing you know, you've overcome your fear of heights and you're jumping without actually realizing you've jumped... I lean over to kiss him.

I know better.

So what happens shouldn't surprise me. Just before I pass the threshold of the armrest, my seatmate abruptly unbuckles his seat belt and stands up. "I need to use the lavatory."

Is that a sign?

What Trish told me to do, is he is doing it?

No wink or nod, no "join me," but still it's close.

I wait a few minutes. Make sure the coast is clear. And then stand and follow in his path. My anxiety has increased tenfold. My whole body is trembling. I don't even know him.

 _"That's the point!" I can hear Trish's voice screaming at me._

She's right. This is exciting. Naughty even. I've never had sex in a public place. Is it bad that I'm wet just thinking about it? About him.

Did I just think that?

Now I'm doing more than thinking, I'm picturing that big cock I just felt, wondering if he will even fit inside me.

What if he doesn't?

Or what if he doesn't have a condom?

Worse, what if I read the signs all wrong?

Reaching the lavatory, the sign reads, 'Occupied'.

I can't go in.

I have to wait.

I'm at a crossroads... I can go the uptight path or the let my hair down and live a little path. Either wait for him to open the door or bolt back to my seat and pretend to sleep for the rest of the flight.

Which is it going to be?

Just as I take a step back, the lavatory door opens.

Standing there, long and lean, my seatmate looks so damn sexy that my knees feel weak. He blinks. Doesn't move. Stands in front of me. He's taller than I had imagined now that I'm actually standing before him. My eyes scan him from head to toe. The ends of his hair are wet — he must have splashed his face. My gaze lowers, taking in all of him, and it lands on the untied scuffed combat boots on his feet that I hadn't noticed before.

Damn, he is so sexy.

"Hi." He smiles.

"Hi." My voice cracks.

Nervous, and to be honest a little scared, I take a step closer. The air crackles between us as the distance closes. I know this is crazy. This is so, so crazy. I've never done anything like this before. I'm a good girl. I follow the rules. Walk a straight line. Don't enter forbidden zones. And yet, here I am breaking a lifetime of good to prove to myself that I'm not uptight. Though even as I think it, I know it's not the only reason.

I want this man. Really want him. And that, too, has never happened. I want him unlike I've ever wanted a man. In fact, my stomach has never twisted at the sight of any guy nor have my panties soaked at the thought of being touched by one. Even my ex had never gotten me this hot this quickly. Whatever this isn't, I know what it is— pure lust all the way.

And I'm going for it.

Inconspicuously, he glances around before taking a step back.

Me, the girl afraid of heights, is jumping off that cliff again and taking a step inside the small space. My heart beats out of control when the door closes behind me, and the sound of the click causes my mouth to part on a gasp of both certainty and uncertainty.

"Fancy meeting you here." His low chuckle tickles my eardrum.

I give him that same flirty shrug I gave him earlier and say, "I know, right?"

This time, his response is smoldering. Those hazel eyes, long lashes sweep his cheeks, and that easy grin melts me. "Do you come here often?"

Instead of answering right away, I twist around and lock the door. When I twist back, I muster up all my courage and give him a wink. "Not often enough."

I can feel the blaze of his stare. His gaze traces the lines of my face, and I swear I feel his sizzling look hot on my skin. Crazy. Intimate. Intense. Suddenly, turbulence shakes the plane once again. Again, I don't panic, and this time it's because he reaches to grab my arm, and with him anchoring me, the sudden impact doesn't alarm me or cause me to stumble.

Even as the plane levels, he doesn't let go.

A little more turbulence and his hand slides down my arm to rest on the curve of my waist. A move so blatant it makes my breath catch.

"You're a good girl— what are you doing in here with me?" he whispers, and the feel of his warm breath against my face sends shivers down my spine.

"Who said I'm a good girl?"

"Me," he whispers.

One last step is all he has to take, and as soon as he does, we're aligned thigh-to-thigh, belly-to-belly. If I tip my head just a little, and he leans down a little, our mouths will be close enough to kiss.

"I'm not," I protest. "I read porn, remember?"

"Right." He grins. "I also remember the Madonna song on your playlist. And that tells me more than some random novel you picked up in the airport in a rush."

"How do you know I just bought that? Maybe it's part of a series that I've been reading forever."

His laugh is a little wicked. "The receipt fell out when I picked it up. I saw today's date stamped on it."

"Still, that doesn't mean—" I don't get to finish telling him I'm not a virgin, if that's what he thinks. Then again, I doubt he thinks that.

Suddenly, his fingers are around my wrists, and he moves me until my back hits the door behind me. With my arms at my sides, he's caging me in. "Are you certain you want to be in here with me?"

My heart slams against my ribs, and I can't get control of my breathing. "Yes, I'm sure."

Then it happens. Bold and unfaltering, he crushes his mouth over mine. With our lips sealed, he swallows my gasp of surprise in an instant. His lips are soft, his tongue is wet, and our teeth crash as we wildly seal our mouths with a drugging kiss.

Ripples of passion overtake me and flow through my body. First, it tugs at my nipples, then it melts in my belly, and finally it explodes between my legs in a burst of desire.

God, I want him.

Knowing this, knowing this is more than checking an item off a list, I let myself go. When I do, our kiss grows more desperate. We search, demand, explore, lick, and suck. We let it consume us.

Panting, he trails those lips down my neck and his male scent, the heat of his skin, and the taste of him lingering on the tip of my tongue, all hot and wild, overwhelms me. As desire continues to shoot through me from my head to the tip of my toes, it occurs to me that I've never been this turned on from just kissing someone.

In a moment, or maybe two, he lets go of his hold on my wrists and grips my nape with one hand before sliding the other down to my hip.

Lower.

Lower still.

Excitement fills the air when his fingertips skim the soft flesh of my bare thigh. Thank God I'm leaning against the door because my knees go weak at the feel of that long, thick erection grinding into me.

That groan he makes in response to my thrusting hips is one I want to eat up. "We don't have a lot of time," he whispers like an apology.

"I know," I whisper back and start to rip his shirt over his head.

Before I even have his shirt fully over his head, and before I can raise my gaze from those smooth, muscled abs I ogled earlier, he growls, "Turn around."

Yes, he actually growls it.

And oh God, that sound, it causes a ripple of arousal to flood my veins. Wanting this as much as he does, maybe more, I abandon my attempt at taking his shirt off and leave it for him to finish pulling over his head while I turn around. Once there, I place my palms flat on the cool glass of the mirror and squeeze my eyes shut.

I'm doing this.

Really doing this.

With our bodies touching, the heat around us blazes. This is so incredibly hot, I can't even remember where I am.

Which might be a good thing.

Remember, I said he's really big, and I'm not going to lie— I'm a tiny bit worried.

But then all my apprehension melts away when he almost expertly slides his hand down my hip to my thigh, fingers catching the hem of my sundress like it's second nature.

Small tingles follow in the wake of his warm skin as he inches my hem up, up, up, up higher until my panties are front and center.

"Oh fuck," he mutters.

Okay, so I have to thank Trish for insisting I wear the black thong. Very aware of how skimpy it is, I bend a little at the hips and give him an even better view.

Those talented fingers are running the length of it like a quarterback trying to score a touchdown.

Wait... the— oh, oh!— quarterbacks don't... I jump.

His fingers are rising and then... the stinging dancing across my flesh surprises me.

He didn't just do that?

Yes, he did. He snapped my thong.

Wide-eyed, I turn to look at him.

"Sorry, I couldn't resist." He grins, and then smooths his palms over my butt cheeks, caressing right down the middle.

Dirty, dirty boy.

Hiding my intense like for his dirty side, I turn around.

As soon as I do, he reaches between my legs and moves his fingers to curve upward to brush my clit on the outside of my very wet panties.

It feels incredible.

With my eyes closed once again, I press my forehead against the mirror. This is it— I'm about to fuck a stranger. I'm about to join the Mile High Club. And I love every minute of it.

When he slides a foot between my open thighs and pushes them open even wider, I pray to God that the split doesn't cause me to slide and wind up like a wishbone on the floor. Once I feel the gap isn't too great, that I won't be torn in half, I shiver in anticipation. But then his fingers circle against me and I shudder from how freaking good it feels.

It's been a while since I've had sex, and so much longer since anyone has made me feel this desirable.

More than ready for what's next, I breathe in and in and in, almost forgetting to let the air release from my lungs until it rushes out in a loud moan of ecstasy.

That was so not intentional.

His response isn't to be missed, though. That shudder of breath. The slight tremble in his touch. The way his body presses closer to mine.

He likes my noises.

I take them up a notch, hoping I don't sound like a porno star.

With a shift in his stance, his arms snake around me and he comes at my pussy. His rough, callused hands glide down my belly, and his fingers are easily sliding inside my thong.

That dirty mouth mutters another curse when he touches my bare flesh, and I tremble from both the delicious touch and the arousing sound.

Oh God, without even giving me time to recover, he's stroking a finger along my sex, and again, and one more time, as if just liking the way it feels.

There's a very real possibility I might explode in anticipation of what's to come before it actually happens.

Men cream their pants. Do women do the same?

His chin presses into my shoulder. "You want this."

Not a question, but a command that demands an answer. My belly squeezes again. It's the first time anyone has talked to me like that in a bedroom situation. I like it. "Yes," I breathe.

Soon, I hear the small clatter of a metal buckle being undone, followed by the soft sigh of a button easing from its hole, and then finally I hear the light purr of a zipper parting.

I try to catch his reflection in the mirror, but my body is covering his.

Just then another round of turbulence hits. This time, the plane starts shaking. It's not a small bump. It rocks. First right, then left. Our bodies rock in the same motion. Unlike the last time, the turbulence doesn't pass in an instant. The bumps are so much more severe, and almost frantically, we try to brace ourselves against the wall.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has turned on the 'fasten seat belt' sign. We are now crossing a zone of turbulence. Please return to your seats immediately and keep your seat belts fastened."

The turbulence causes the plane to lose altitude, and when it drops, he tries to grab for me, and I attempt to grab for him. We need to anchor each other until the plane levels out.

Our bodies shift and move and it's then that I see it— the scrolling letter B on his chest. It's now that I get the déjà vu moment. This man I've affectionately termed Mr. Beach Bum is Mr. Uptight Prick from last night. He's Austin.

Removing my hands from his body, I clutch whatever I can. I feel a little sick that I'm in here with him. He let some woman blow him and then dismissed her like she was trash. Is that what he is planning to do to me? Oh, wait, he wouldn't have to, because we'll never see each other again.

I need to get out of here.

Now.

It happens before I can stop it. I'm holding onto the small lever that secures the door. He tries to grab my hand, and the movement of the plane causes my hand to jolt to the right. And then, just like that, we're flying out of the door.

It's both of our doing.

I blame him.

Horrified, I can't even move. I'm lying nose first on the carpet, and his body is covering mine. For those who happen to want to watch the show, I'm certain they can't see much, but they will know. Know without a doubt what we were about to do in there.

The palpitations I'm feeling in my heart are no longer a result of lust, but complete embarrassment.

"You need to get to your seats."

Mortified, I can't even look up to see who is talking to us.

I feel a tugging of my dress, down, down, down it goes. It's him. The beach bum. The prick. The manwhore. The slut. Thank God the material is cotton and not the cheap stuff that easily rips.

Soft lips whisper in my ear. "I think you're good to stand."

Regardless of my latest realization, I can't be mad at him right now. Besides, I wanted this. I practically begged for it. "What about you?" I whisper.

"Don't worry about me."

A throat clears.

This can't be happening.

Daring to allow my gaze to lift, I know as my eyes make their way up the body before me that it's Tiffany, the flight attendant with the crush on my seatmate. Soon enough, a frown and blonde hair appear in my vision.

Yep. I was right.

The Mile High Club is going to be my doom.

The flight attendant is sitting in her jump seat and she is leering at me. "Federal Aviation Administration regulations mandate a lavatory occupancy of one. I'm going to have to report this incident to the captain."

I want to slap that smirk off her face, but that would require standing, not lying horizontal with my partner-in-crime half-naked on top of me.

In addition to that, aggravating her now won't do me any good. If she turns me in, I could be accused of a flight violation or even public indecency.

Slowly, the weight on top of me disappears. The man I was just about to have sex with is rising to all of his six-plus feet.

Oh, God, his pants. His pants. They're undone, and without that belt buckled they're certain to fall as soon as he stands.

I don't pray often, but please God, give me a break here.

"This is a total misunderstanding," my seatmate tells the flight attendant, twisting to look at her over his shoulder. He's pulling his shirt over his head.

I should care about what is going on, but right now all I can think about is that scrolling B disappearing. Puff, it is gone, like it was never there. But it was. And I know who he is. What he is— a manwhore, a slut, a player, whatever term fits.

Tiffany or whatever her real name is, scoffs. "I don't think there is any misunderstanding."

Turning around, he holds a hand up as if in surrender. "Can we at least discuss it before you do anything rash?"

Petrified she's going to refuse him, I can't even fully raise my gaze to look at him now that he is facing her for fear that his big, thick cock, the one I never saw, but oh how I felt it, is out on full display.

Finally, I dare to take a peek. Phew, it's not hanging out, or sticking out, whichever is the case, for all to see. Somehow in the midst of the chaos he not only managed to push my dress down, but pull his pants up.

If I didn't hate him right now, I might kiss his feet. I think he just got us off the public indecency charge at least.

Slowly, I rise to my feet, more than aware that I am one hot mess. Even so, I try to stay close to him, shield him, give him time to zip and buckle. To make himself presentable.

The bubbly flight attendant is glaring at me.

It's like we're in a standoff.

Well, I'm not backing down. In fact, the more she narrows her eyes at me, the straighter I stand. I have to tell myself not to ball my fists for fear I might take the first swing. Probably a time to remind myself that I've never been in a fight.

When Tiffany continues to stand before us in silence, my seatmate pleads with her. "Please."

Still with the glare, this time when he speaks, she steps around me. "Well, I guess we can discuss it. Maybe I misunderstood what was taking place," the flight attendant practically purrs to my seatmate.

At that, my head snaps in his direction. Oh, please, she didn't misunderstand a goddamn thing. The physical turbulence might have passed, but the emotional one is just starting to battle within me.

Although he didn't have time to fix himself, at least his shirt is pulled down low enough to cover the fact that his pants are undone.

Thank fuck. Not a word I use often, but it is more than needed right now.

"Please take your seat," the flight attendant instructs me, but not my seatmate.

I narrow my gaze at her. This behavior certainly wasn't covered during the in-flight safety demonstration.

My seatmate nods his chin beyond the first-class curtain. "Take your seat. Let me talk to her, alone."

There's that arrogant, domineering bastard I remember from last night.

Furious, I almost say no, but then I remember I am in jeopardy of being escorted in handcuffs off the plane, so like a good little girl, I start back to my seat.

"One minute." It's the flight attendant telling him her rules. Now this is her game.

I turn to glare at her.

"Please sit in the empty row across from your assigned seat. I'm going to have to ask that you sit alone the rest of the flight."

The look on my seatmate's face is one of utter blankness.

Then again, what else would it be?

After all, a slut's work is never done.

Besides, what happened between us was a hookup gone wrong. I should be thankful that I'm not just another notch in his belt. Let that role go to her.

Sticking my chin up with pride, I look the fake Tiffany in the eyes. "I wouldn't want to sit any other way. He's all yours," I huff. With that, I pivot and march my hot mess back to my newly assigned seat.

Stewing, I practically chew my lip raw waiting for the outcome.

My ex-seatmate is back within five minutes. I want to say, "That was quick," but I hold my tongue. I know he didn't do anything with her. Yet. He must have had to make some promise about the next time she's back in New York City, depending on where he lives. I never bothered to ask, too caught up in my unusual behavior. He was a stranger and needed to stay that way, so I avoided personal questions. Now, I feel depressed that I'll never know.

"Hey, can we talk?" he whispers across the aisle.

Sensing his sincere concern, I consider it for a moment, but then I remember how he behaved last night and shake my head no. "I'm tired. I'm going to go to sleep," I tell him. Tell Austin, that is. And then I close my eyes.

Looks like I won't be checking the Mile High Club off my list today or anytime in the near future.

Too bad that's not what makes me sad.


	5. Chapter 5

i am so sorry that this is late once again! i will make it up to you guys!

thank you for your lovely reviews. x

* * *

Ally

There are some titles you earn that nobody can ever take away: Mother. Veteran. Ph.D. And, of course, there is the ever-coveted card-carrying member of the Mile High Club.

Yes, once you've done it high in the sky, you're pretty much set for life when it comes to always winning the never have I ever game.

But, make no mistake about it— joining the Mile High Club isn't as simple as you may think.

Or maybe it was just me who thought that.

In my defense, Trish made it out to be so incredibly easy.

Maybe for her it was.

For me— not so much.

In fact, the attempt was downright humiliating.

Then again, I should have known better. Trish always makes everything seem easier than it is.

Across the aisle, light and shadow paint him.

I haven't slept, but I have pretended to do so. Still, whenever I move or shift a little, he catches my quick glance his way, and this time is no different.

"I'm really sorry," he whispers for the hundredth time.

I can't even look him in the eyes.

In his defense, he doesn't understand why. He doesn't know I saw him getting head last night and then treat the brunette like she was dirt. Sure, I felt there was a reason, but after today, I wonder if that is just his way with all women.

Still incredibly embarrassed about everything, I look away without saying a word. Awkward situation equals bitchy woman. It's how I've always been. I can't help it.

At last giving up, he stretches those long legs, and from the corner of my eye I can see him rest his head against the window.

When I can't take it anymore, I dare to sneak a quick peek his way.

I know I shouldn't.

In that one instant it takes for me to focus on him, my heart starts to beat out of my chest.

Tall, blond, and handsome— the three perfect words to describe him.

As if uncontrollable, my breathing also picks up.

And then I stupidly start to think maybe we could try that again. This time with a lower volume, a little more discretion, and a whole lot more coordination.

 _No_ , I silently tell myself.

At least this time I listen.

One embarrassing moment on this flight is enough for a lifetime.

With his eyes closed, I can almost pretend we never met and that what just happened never took place.

Almost.

Except the feel of his lips on my neck still lingers, and the touch of his fingers against my skin continues to burn, and then there's my lady parts, which are still tingling wildly to the point of maddening irritation.

Chastising myself for even listening to Trish, and forever considering joining the Mile High Club, I feel like I want to cry, which is stupid.

I.

Will.

Never.

See.

Him.

Again.

The speaker crackles and the pilot's voice booms through the open space. "Cabin crew, prepare for landing."

Sighing, I avert my gaze and then ever so quietly buckle my seat belt and pray that the sound doesn't disturb him. I can't take another "I'm sorry" or "Are you sure you're okay?"

Soon enough, the plane starts to descend and my stomach drops. I find myself digging my nails into the armrest so tightly that my knuckles are turning white.

He was right.

And right now I have this odd feeling. I wish I were sitting next to him, listening to the sound of his caramel-like voice as he reads to me.

 _No. No. No,_ I tell myself, and I know I'm right. I don't need a man in my life, and definitely not a stranger who fucks for a hobby.

At 37,000 feet in the air, everything still feels like a haze of white fluffiness, but then the lights from the landscape below start to become clearer and so does my mind.

I'm about to start something new.

And it's exciting.

Looking out the window in anticipation, I know there are adventures waiting for me here. I've visited Miami many times with Trish through the years, but this is different. This will be me, making a new life, in a new city.

I'm so ready.

As soon as the plane lands, the pilot's voice comes over the speakers again. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Miami International Airport. The temperature is ninety-three degrees..." He continues giving us information, but I tune it out. I just want to get off this plane.

Atypical of my normal airplane behavior, I stand up immediately after the plane stops, open the bin over him, over Austin, without glancing down, and as soon as the door opens, I bolt out of it.

"Hey, wait." Austin is calling after me.

He doesn't even know my name, or that I know his, and I have to be okay with that.

He's a stranger.

A random almost screw.

And I will never see him again.

I have to be okay with that.

I say it to myself one more time so that maybe I'll believe it.

After all, that's the way it is.

There aren't that many people in the arrival terminal.

In fact, it's somewhat quiet. Then again, it is one of the last flights of the day.

Walking fast, then faster still, I practically sprint in my wedges so that Austin doesn't catch up with me. The floor is recently polished and a bit slick, so my high school track skills are a little slowed, but as soon as I come upon the first restroom, I duck into it.

Drawing breath after breath to remain calm and steady, I lock myself inside a stall and lean against the chilly metal until the threat of tears passes. Then I stand in front of the mirror. Staring at my reflection, I give myself an assessing gaze. Smudged mascara against pale skin. Naturally brown hair covered with chestnut highlights. Splotchy cheeks and a colorless mouth. All of this is the aftermath of a woman ravaged— swollen lips, messy hair, flushed cheeks.

Trish is going to see it a mile away.

To combat the almost-just-fucked image, I splash water on my face, smooth my hair, wipe under my eyes, dab on a little lip gloss, and powder my face.

 _There, much better._

Not really.

Done trying to improve what only a shower can fix, I contemplate going out there.

Women come and go while I pace the wash area and wait and wait and wait until I think it's safe. Until I think Austin has passed by the security gate and gone into the main terminal. By the size of his duffle, I doubt he has luggage, so I won't have to worry about seeing him in baggage claim.

Convinced the coast must be clear, I step out of the restroom and head for the main terminal, where I will proceed directly to the baggage claim. The plan is for me to text Trish once I get my luggage and that she'll pull her car up to the curb to get me.

As soon as I reach the terminal, I see her. So much for my plan to save time. She's standing beside a fountain, talking to someone. I can't see who it is. Still, she's not hard to miss. Short with black curls, and beautiful. Even though my plan has been aborted, I smile to myself. I'm happy she's waiting for me. She doesn't see me, though. I should surprise her.

Slowing my steps, I freeze when I get a little closer.

Oh.

My.

God.

The person she's talking to is Austin.

No.

No.

No.

This isn't happening.

He really is a manwhore. Trying to pick up a girl at an airport. How completely lame.

Just as I'm about to turn and run in the other direction to wait for Trish to reject him, he starts walking away from her. That was fast. Then again, he's so not her type. Or the Austin from the plane isn't, anyway. The one from last night is more her style. As flexible as she is, she always goes for the suits. Unable to see the rejection on his face, I watch that long, lean body disappear down the escalator toward the parking garage.

It is just as the top of Austin's head disappears that the screech echoes in the large space. "Allyyyyyyyy!" Trish yells and comes rushing toward me. Her long curly hair is parted down the center and flaps against her loose, flowing silk top. Wearing Converse sneakers with cheetah prints, she moves like the wind in her short-shorts. Seeing her in her quirky getup makes all my worries melt away.

Trish has this thing: she hates to match. No, wait— actually, she thinks matching is putting pieces together that don't match. Stripes with polka dots. Studded boots with frilly dresses. High heels with casual shorts. Leather and lace. She's a fashion merchandiser with her own sense of style. Sadly, not many approve, which is why she was fired from almost every major boutique in SoHo and is now a lifeguard.

"Trishhhhh!" I scream back, not caring who sees me or what they think.

Running toward each other the way you might see in a movie, soon enough we're hugging and squeezing each other.

Trish pulls back and looks me over. "I can't believe you're here. You look great."

Smiling at her, I take a moment to catch my breath. "I'm here. I'm really here."

"You're not going to regret it. I promise you. In fact, I already have our day planned out."

I laugh. "You made a plan?"

She grabs my hand and heads toward the escalator. "Yes, I did. Maybe I want to be a little like you," she says proudly.

Hmmm... like me. Oddly enough, that makes me smile.

"I took the whole day off," she tells me. "We're going to go home and sleep. Once we wake up, I'll help you unpack, because I know you won't rest until your things are organized. Once that is done, we're going to spend the rest of the day on the beach. And then later we'll have dinner with Trent."

Stepping on the escalator toward the baggage area, I look over my shoulder at her. "Trent? You're seeing someone?"

"I'm not sure what you'd call it. We haven't labeled it yet."

"And when did you meet this Trent?"

She gets that dreamy look in her eye. "Just last week. We're not serious, but I really like him. He's a performer."

I step off the escalator and look for my designated baggage claim belt. "Wow. Wow," I repeat.

Her long strides are faster than mine. "Which carousel is your luggage going to be on?"

I point to number five. "That one."

Four very large, lone black suitcases with bright tags are all that remains on the belt.

Her eyes are glued to the belt. "Please don't tell me those are all yours."

I give her one of my you know me smiles. "Yes, they are."

She sees my face and laughs. "Ally, they are not going to fit in my little car."

"Sure they will— they have to. After all, you usually have more baggage than me."

She's shaking her head.

"Then we'll strap them to the top if we have to," I tell her.

Her snort worries me. "Relax. We'll figure something out."

My freak-out is something she's used to. "No. No. No. We won't figure something out. We'll do it. We have to. What's left of my life is in these bags."

I mailed everything I could ahead of time, including most of my clothing and shoes. Yes, I have a lot of those. Luckily, I didn't have to pay for most of them.

Other things precious to me are also in these suitcases. Memories of my mother, things I've collected over the years, my journals, my lists, my songbook.

Trish grips my shoulders and her eyes stare into my hazel ones. "You're right; we'll make it work. We always do."

Relieved, I feel like I can breathe again.

And then together we hoist the suitcases off the belt, moving with them until we have all four beside us. Once we've loaded them onto a luggage cart, we start walking toward the parking garage.

I bite my tongue. My original plan of her pulling her compact BMW X1 luxury SUV up to the curb would have been much easier.

Two elevator rides later, we're in short-term parking and taking turns pushing the load to her car. It's Trish's turn, and while I was huffing and puffing the entire way up the inclined slope of the garage on my turn, she's pushing it effortlessly.

Lifeguarding has gotten her in awesome shape.

Beyond ready to ask the question, I can't hold off any longer. "Hey, was that guy talking to you earlier trying to pick you up?"

Her head darts in my direction. "You mean the guy I was talking to in the terminal just before I saw you?"

"Yes, him," I answer. "The hot, tall, blond-haired one in the worn jeans." The words just come out. I didn't mean to be so descriptive.

She lets out a comically long exhale. "No, that's Austin Moon. We work together. I would have asked him to wait around to meet you, but he had already told me he had to hurry because he had to get to work to open."

I am finding it hard to breathe.

This isn't happening.

Struck stupefied, I stop walking for a moment and try to comprehend what she just said. When I can lift my jaw off the floor, I catch up with her and feel the need to clarify. "Wait. You know him?"

Completely oblivious to my torment, Trish continues to roll the cart. With her key fob in her hand, she pops her trunk as we approach her car.

I am frozen in place.

Then she stops and looks at me. Trish is perceptive. Nothing gets by her. With a raised brow, she says, "I think the question is— how do you know him?"

The wine I had drunk so many hours ago feels like it is sloshing unpleasantly in my belly and I can't answer her.

That doesn't seem to bother her. "Do you know him from New York?"

Slowly, I shake my head no and walk toward her. Though technically speaking, I guess I do.

Trish takes a step and we're standing near each other. "Did you two meet?"

I nod, and no matter how hard I try, I can't cover my shocked reaction.

Her speculative gaze locks on mine. "Did you... Was he... on the same plane with you?"

Not watching where I'm going, I almost walk right into a car. "Yes, he was," I tell her, my voice so low it's more like a squeak.

Sweeping all of this under a rug would be a great idea. Why, oh, why does my best friend have to be so perceptive? "Anndd?" she draws out.

A flush washes over me, and in the bright lights of the garage there is no hiding it.

Her eyes widen like two blue full moons. "Oh, my God, did you join the Mile High Club with Austin Moon?"

From there, I go on autopilot. I turn away and yank one of the suitcases off the cart. "No, not exactly."

She steps in front of me and puts a halt to my movements. "Stop what you're doing right now and spill it, Dawson."

I skitter past her and haul another suitcase off the cart. "I first saw him last night at the club..."

By the time I finish telling her about last night, her shocked reaction is priceless. She can barely talk. "You... Wait... You watched..."

Making a show of it, I nod slowly. "And then I saw him again today on the plane, but at the time I didn't know it was him."

"No, wait, go back. You watched a guy getting a blow job?"

"I already told you I did."

She flings her arms around me. "I'm so proud of you. And you are so not uptight anymore."

Maybe just my attempt has cured me. I do kind of feel like my old self already. I was never as wild and free as Trish, but I'd had my share of fun and adventures.

Breaking her hold, I focus on the size of her car and the cubic feet of suitcases. This is going to be ugly.

It takes us almost twenty minutes to get all four suitcases in the car. Only two of them fit in the trunk, and luckily one just barely fit in the backseat, but the other one had to be bungee-corded to the top. Neither of us is certain it isn't going to fall off during the thirty-minute drive south.

I can see it now, my most flamboyant panties flying through the air. All I can do is pray everything holds tight.

It takes me much longer to tell her everything about Austin than it did to load the car. My anxiety level has increased tenfold knowing that she knows him. That they work together. That there's a chance I might see him again.

"Damn," she says, "the universe is fucking with you. Twice in as many days. That's crazy."

The sun is still hours away from rising, but the sky is the most beautiful shade of purple, and I find myself once again looking out into the night. "No, I'm the crazy one for even attempting something like that, and with a guy like him."

She sighs. "I honestly don't know what to say. He's not a dick. In fact, he's a nice guy."

Still staring out the window, I jerk my head toward her, appalled. "Did you hear anything that I told you? The blow job in the bar last night with whomever he was with, the way he treated her, and then the almost bathroom fucking with me. He's anything but a nice guy, Trish."

A weighted silence falls between us and neither of us looks at the other. "I know him pretty well, Ally," she finally says. "Sure, he screws around once in a while, but he's incredibly sweet. Dez and him are like my annoying siblings."

My head whips in her direction and my stomach takes another turn for the worse. "Wait! Isn't Dez the guy you told me about who starred in an MTV show?"

Her hands are gripping the wheel pretty tightly. "Yeah, that's him. He's Austin's best friend from New York."

My pulse starts pounding. My ears begin to ring. There's no air in this car. I'm not quite sure I can breathe. Once I open the window, I turn in her direction. "Trish?"

She looks over at me with a smirk on her face. "Yes, Ally?"

The devil in Converse sneakers is whom I'm narrowing my gaze on. "Doesn't Dez live next door to you?"

As if all innocence, she nods. "Yeah, and Austin, too. I told you about them. Remember?"

My eyes narrow. "I remember you telling me all about Dez and how he decided to give himself a year to figure his life out after he graduated from UCLA. You told me he was trying to write a screenplay. That he wants to work behind the camera, not in front of it. You told me a lot about him. But you never mentioned he had a roommate."

She shrugs. "I could have sworn I did. Austin moved in almost six months ago. Like I said, he's cool. We hang out all the time."

Staring over at her in complete disbelief, I am struck mute.

Austin is her neighbor, which now makes him my neighbor.

My neighbor.

They hang out!

Oh, shit.


	6. Chapter 6

i'm extremely sorry about updating so late at night, here's the next chapter!

enjoy!

* * *

Ally

To see it in person is like seeing it for the first time.

The little tropical-themed bungalow that belonged to Trish's grandmother has been transformed into a beautiful, sophisticated beach home. The flamingo wallpaper is gone and the once mauve walls are all painted a stark white, which sets off the dark furniture perfectly. The matching pink carpets of the nineties have been pulled up to reveal beautiful hardwood floors.

Situated on a street-to-beach lot, a double carport now occupies the empty space we used to play in as kids and provides a little privacy from the road. The old garage that served as the front of the house has been demolished and replaced with an extended outdoor living space downstairs and a new bedroom and bath upstairs, complete with a balcony overlooking the town and a small side window looking toward the water.

That is my room. Trish took her grandmother's room downstairs in the back, which has beautiful French doors that open to a magnificent view of the beach.

The place itself is small. Enough for us, though. Just under one thousand square feet inside, it's still bigger than my apartment in New York City. The best part is the outdoor living space and the view; they are both to die for. Beyond the short breaker wall is the white crystal-like beach and the ever blue of the beach.

What more could a girl ask for?

Running my hand over the shiny black granite in the galley kitchen, I look around again in awe. Franke farm sink, Sub-Zero refrigerator, Wolf cooktop and oven. Everything is new. The only thing that is the same as before is the solid wood flooring beneath my bare feet. When Trish told me her mother had remodeled the place with intention to help her sell it before Trish decided to move back here last year, I never imagined it would look like this. Valentina lives in LA and never wanted to move back to Miami; that's why the bungalow was left to Trish.

Taking a few moments to absorb all the changes in the house, I can't help but think how vastly different this place is from Manhattan. For once, change isn't causing me to break out in hives.

I'm more than okay with it.

Moving forward the only way I know how... without regret.

After unpacking and napping for a few hours once we'd arrived from the airport, Trish insisted we go to the beach. Although I was nowhere near done setting up my room, I gave in and went. The day was warm and sunny, and I wanted to feel the heat on my skin and the sand between my toes. And maybe, just maybe, I hoped to get a glimpse of a certain lifeguard on duty. We walked for miles. Every time we passed a lifeguard tower, I snuck a quick glance at the guy in red shorts and a white T-shirt, but not a single one was Austin.

By the time we got back, and horsed around by dousing each other with the hose on the side of the house like we used to do as kids, I had needed some more sleep, and so did Trish. Feeling beyond exhausted, I went from the doorway of my new room to the bed in a few steps. I shed my dress and dove onto the soft mattress with its mound of white covers and pillows. Smiling under the sheets, I looked around. I had a blank canvas to decorate and make my own— all in due time.

Yet even though I was tired, I tossed and turned.

Images of Austin floated through my mind.

I wondered if it was only because I knew that eventually I'd see him again. He was my neighbor, after all.

Sleep wasn't forthcoming. It was seldom easy for me, but this time it was because memories of Austin were causing that ache he had created so many hours ago to throb, almost painfully.

I wished I'd already bought that vibrator Trish had put on the list. I could use it right about now. My hand would have to do. I wasn't sure if Trish was asleep, though, and what if the bed squeaked? I gave half a second's thought to embarrassment and tossed it aside for the sake of finding relief.

The bottom line? I was horny.

The memory of Austin Moon's groan slid over me and traveled somewhere deep inside me right down to my clit. I didn't do this often, but I knew how to make it quick. Having a roommate for so many years taught me that.

Turning to my side, my fingers circled my hard nub and I plunged one inside to fuck myself. Sweat slid down the line of my spine and rested just above my buttocks. Then it trickled down a little farther, and it felt so much like a tongue licking along my skin, it put me close to the blissful edge of climax. I shifted ever so slightly against my hand, once, twice, three times.

Sweet tension curled inside my belly. Before I could blink, my sex tightened and my body tensed. Soon, I found myself tipping over faster than ever at the thought of being the reason Austin had made the sounds he had.

I shook in silence and then turned farther to bury my face in the pillow and stifle my own moans. Boneless and sated, after that, sleep found me.

* * *

The house was quiet when I woke and once I'd showered, I unpacked enough to find something to wear to meet Trish's _we don't have a label_ guy. Uncertain if the upcoming night air would be chilly, I went with a simple white KVF wrap dress with silver sandals. Once I'd dressed, dabbed some makeup on, and blow-dried my hair, I snuck out onto the balcony. Looking one way, then the other and back, I spent more than fifteen minutes staring at the house to my left and the other to my right.

Which one did Austin live in?

Trish's being coy and deliberately not talking about him. Okay, so maybe not coy exactly. I might have said to her, "I don't want to talk about him." And then added, "Ever again."

The bitch of it is, I'm super curious and for the life of me, I can't tell which house he lives in. Eventually, I'll break down and ask, but for now I'm going to enjoy a glass of spiked lemonade on one of the lounges on the patio that overlooks the water and wait for the sun to set or Trish to wake up, whichever comes first.

Slipping off my sandals, I settle in the chair. I wish I had my book, but as luck would have it, I left it, along with my iPod, on the plane. Yes, me, Miss Organized, did that. In my defense, all I cared about at the time was getting the hell out of Dodge. I checked with the airport and neither was found. I've added these purchases to my to do list. The iPod will have to wait, but I'll go to the store some time next week and buy another copy of Summer's Ménage, if only to pretend it's Austin reading it to me.

I'm uncertain of when Trish plans on going out, and my stomach rumbling tells me I should get up and get something to eat in the meantime. There is some hummus and carrots in the refrigerator, and I think I saw some all-natural cheese there, but there are no crackers in cupboards. Trish's on a minimalist health kick and shops accordingly.

Tomorrow I'm so hitting up the grocery store.

The thought of the rather unappetizing food isn't enough to motivate me to get me to move from this spot, so I decide to wait a bit.

The sound of the waves and feel of the warm breeze makes me feel more relaxed than I have in ages.

"Hey. I thought you might be out here." Trish stands at the end of the pathway along the side of the house that leads from the driveway to the patio, wearing a red baseball hat, tight jeans rolled up to the ankles, leopard pumps, and a white sleeveless silky top with a black sequin blazer.

"Hi." I shade my eyes to look at her. "I didn't know you even left. Here I was creeping around the house because I thought you were still sleeping."

She laughs. "I ran out to get food for dinner."

"You're cooking?" I ask in utter shock, and possibly with a hint of concern about what she could be cooking.

She laughs again. "No, Trent is going to grill some fish."

"He cooks?" I make an impressed face.

Shrugging out of her jacket, she tosses it on one of the chairs at the outdoor table for four and walks toward the house, but pauses to turn around. "Not exactly. He grills. The rest of the meal is from the Whole Foods salad bar."

That sounds more like Trish. Setting my drink down, I swing my legs onto the ground. "Let me put my sandals on and I'll help you unload the car."

"No, it's all set."

"You should have told me you were going; I would have come."

Trish opens the barn-like door to the kitchen. "Don't be silly— you were tired and needed to sleep."

Once I've slipped my sandals on, I begin to walk toward her. It's not until I'm a step away that I hear the loud male voices inside.

Male voices.

As in two men.

They must have come in the front while she came around back.

My eyes bug out of my head. "Trish?"

She turns toward me and squints. Still, I can see the mixture of guilt and mischievousness in her eyes. "Yes, Ally?"

"Who's inside?"

Before she can say another word, a very good-looking man with a pressed white shirt, and black pants appears in the open doorway. A suit. Just like I thought. Albeit a hot-looking suit. He's a very tall, and very well-built man.

God, he must work out night and day.

Trish smiles at him and his arms go around her small waist. "Hey, babe, should I start the grill?"

Babe?

He calls her babe.

Okay, personally, I think when that word is used, it means the relationship status has passed the no-label phase.

Allowing a moment of tenderness to pass between them, she soon pushes off his big, broad chest and grabs his hand to turn him in my direction. "Trent, I want you to meet my very best friend in the whole, wide world, Ally Dawson."

His smile is genuine, and I get the idea right away that he is, too.

I hold out my hand, but he surprises me with a kiss to the cheek. "So you're the infamous Ally. I've heard a lot about you."

Crushing my irritation with Trish, I manage a courteous smile. "Not all bad, I hope."

His arm swings around to pull Trish closer. "No, nothing but good. This one right here thinks you walk on water."

Okay, so he's pushing it a little, I'm sure, but scoring brownie points never hurts. "You're going to make me blush," I tease.

Just then a man dressed in a gray button-down and black slacks with a black leather necklace of some kind around his neck appears in the doorway. He has a bottle of wine in one hand and four stemmed glasses woven between his fingers in the other. How he managed that is a feat in itself.

This guy might even be taller than Trent, but he isn't as wide. Whereas Trent is football player material, he is more the soccer player type. His dark, slicked-back hair borders on black. He's attractive in the boy-next-door kind of way. Just not the boy next door that I, for some reason, want to see. "Hey, am I missing the introductions?" He smiles. He has a really great smile and really white teeth.

Trish and Trent rush to take the open wine and glasses from him. Without preamble, Trent nods toward the guy. "Ally, this is Gavin. He's a performer and we own the record label in Miami. He also owns other labels as well."

Gavin shakes my hand and his eyes rake over me. "Very nice to meet you, Ally."

His hand is warm in mine and his grip tighter than I'm normally accustomed to when I meet men. "Nice to meet you." I smile.

Clasping my other hand with his other, he practically makes us hold hands. Like I said, he's attractive; I just don't know if I'm attracted to him.

"Wine, anyone?" Trish asks, looking at me specifically with puppy dog–like eyes that are screaming, "please don't be mad at me."

My glare tells her I'm going to kill her.

"Let me get you a glass," Gavin offers.

With a sweet smile, I answer, "Yes, sure. That would be great," even though I could walk the four feet to the table to get it myself.

After the wine is poured, Trish announces, "I'm going to get the food ready."

"I'll help you," I answer, trying not to grit my teeth.

"No, really, Trent and I can do it. You sit down and relax. The sun is just about to set. Tomorrow your Cinderella duties can start," she teases.

My laugh is forced, but that joke always gets me and a real chuckle eventually ghosts out of my mouth. She knows I love cleaning. It's my thing. And since she hates it, when we lived together in the past, she would do anything to get out of cooking and cleaning.

With a glass in each hand, Gavin hands me one. "What do you say we sit on the beach and take in that sunset?"

Sunsets are beautiful and especially at the beach. With that, I can't say no. "Sounds great."

Gavin offers his arm and I loop mine through his. Okay, he's handsome and charming.

How bad can the night be?

Sitting on the sand outside the breaker wall, we fall into easy conversation. "So, Trish tells me you worked for a few artists in New York. What did you do there?" he asks.

My gaze lands on the setting sun. "I was a songwriter."

"Did you like working in New York with all that traffic and all those people?"

I dig my toes into the sand and look over at him. "It's the only place I've ever worked. I don't know any other way."

Gavin sips his wine. "So," he says, "what made you quit and move out here?"

The wind blows and my hair tangles in front of my face. I push it away. "I was ready for a change."

He doesn't look away from me. "Lucky for us. By the way, I saw your work. I think it is fantastic stuff."

Feeling proud of what I've created, I smile at him. "Thank you."

"What if I could sell your songs to well known artists? Would you be interested?"

My heart thumps in excitement. "Yes, of course I am, but there are some things to discuss."

"What are you concerned about?"

I take a sip of wine. "I'm not concerned per se, but I think it comes down to how much you can sell them for, and what your cut will be?"

He shakes his head with a small laugh and swallows a sip of wine. "Something tells me I may be more willing to negotiate my terms with you than I am with most of my vendors."

With excitement in his voice, he goes on to tell me about his label. He's young and seems to have done extremely well for himself.

Looking out toward the fading yellow glow, I push myself up. "We should get back; they'll be waiting for us."

Gavin stands and takes my empty wineglass. "I hope I'm not coming across as being pushy. I just really think we have a win/win here."

"No, not all. I just want to make sure it's a deal that can work for both of us."

Gavin turns to me with a grin. "Trish told me you'd be a hard sell. I just want you to keep an open mind. How about we agree to discuss it another time?"

Seagulls above squawk and I look up and then over at him. "Sounds like a plan."

We walk side by side, and my eyes wander to the house on the right and then the one on the left. Austin lives in one of those houses. Which one? Is he home? Does he see me out here? What will he do when he finds out who I am? How will I react when I see him? Only time will tell.

"Here, take these," Gavin says, handing me the glasses.

Once the trade-off is complete, he opens the gate from the beach to Trish's private outdoor living space. As I pass by, he stops me and whispers in my ear, "No more business talk tonight, I promise."

I smile at him and think he really is charming.

"Oh, good, everything is ready. Sit down," Trish says excitedly.

No longer able to stay mad at her, I give her a grin and look around.

Gavin sets the glasses on the table near my lemonade and rushes to pull my chair out before sitting beside me.

The rumble of tires on gravel has my ears perking up. There has been no activity at either house to the right or left of us all day. The one to the right had lights on when we walked back from the beach, but I saw no one outside.

This is the first sign of life, and I know the car just pulled in to the house on the right because the one to the left has a paved driveway, not stones.

After trying to crane my head, I give up and decide I can't see anything from here.

As soon as I can, I'll excuse myself and run upstairs to take a look.

"Food is ready," Trent says, taking the fish off the grill.

Looks like it will be a while.

I sigh and decide to put my mind to rest. It probably isn't Austin anyway, and even if it is, he's no one I need to be dwelling over. I was more than likely just another almost notch in his belt. With that stark, cold reality, I vow to enjoy the night.

After all, Trish worked hard on this. Soft rock is playing in the background; the table is set with real dishes, not paper; more wine has been poured, and candles are flickering all around us.

It's almost romantic.

Too bad the man beside me isn't the one I want to get romantic with.

But then I think about the list. About the ten items on it and how Gavin could help me check off number two or number three.

I look over at Gavin, who is grinning at me.

* * *

Austin

After pulling a double to try to earn some extra cash to pay my sister back for the plane ticket, I walk into the house and immediately want to leave.

With my head still on the girl from the plane— the smoking-hot sex we were about to have, the sudden derailment, and then her more-than-uptight response to getting caught— I just can't handle it tonight.

Needing to get the fuck out of here, I quickly hop in the shower, run my hands through my hair, throw on a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and pause for a moment to shake my head.

Shoving my feet in my boots, I head over to Trish's to catch a beer with her.

The path down the side of Trish's house to the kitchen door is wetter than usual and my boots slosh over the stepping-stones. Slowing my pace, I'm surprised to hear music playing. When I look ahead, the patio has a dim glow coming from it.

Can't remember the last time I saw Trish outside on the patio at night; she's normally either inside on the couch or out at the beach.

"Hey, Trish," I call out as I round the corner, "how about a beer?" Just as I'm about to hustle for the kitchen door and put the twelve-pack in my hand in the refrigerator, I stop dead in my tracks.

No fucking way.

I can't move.

How did she get here?

Maybe the sun got to me today and I'm seeing things. I blink a couple of times to be certain. Nothing changes, though. The image in front of me is still that of her. The woman from the plane, the one I thought I'd never see again, the very same one I haven't been able to stop thinking about.

In an instant, our gazes lock. Her eyes are wide, not quite as startled as mine but almost, and her mouth falls open. There are words to be spoken. Introductions to be made. Right now, though, I can't seem to do anything but stare at her.

From the minute I first laid eyes on her, there was something refreshing about her. Sure, she's a natural beauty with all that shiny brown hair and that killer body, her softly upturned nose, and those stunning hazel eyes. Oh, and I can't forget those long, long legs or pink lips, either. Yet, it wasn't just her looks that attracted me to her.

It was her sharp wit, her ability to laugh at herself with the fucking sexiest laugh I'd ever heard, and that quirky guard that she had up and then let down so easily. Which was dangerous as well, and I damn well knew it. Hence why I didn't try harder to go after her. I wasn't anything she needed, and I knew she wasn't anything I needed in my fucked-up life right now.

Everyone at the table is already turned in my direction. When my gaze circles the seating arrangement, the wine, the candles, the empty dinner plates, and the guest list, I feel an odd sense of outrage. The girl from the plane dumped me like I was nothing, and now she's getting cozy with that douchebag Gavin Young.

Young.

Fucking douchebag Young.

Shitty label man with a bad rep for fucking every artist that works for him, and a little roughly, I might add. Word is that his fraternization policy is strictly enforced in a way that comes across as fuck me or be fucked.

What is Trish thinking, bringing him around her best friend?

Then again, she might not know. I do only because I've heard about how unethical his business dealings are.

"Austin," Trish answers in surprise, her eyes darting to the girl from the plane that must be her best friend.

Does Trish know about her friend and me?

If so, how?

No invitation is given to join them. So, I have two options here. One, I can be cordial and say "sorry, I didn't know you had company" and leave. Or two, I can sit the fuck down and officially meet the girl Trish has been gushing about since I moved next door six months ago. The same one I already had my mouth and hands all over.

The first is unacceptable. The second is bold. I go for it. "Hey," I raise my arm with the beer in it, "mind if I join you? I have enough to go around."

How can she say no to that? Right?

Trish jumps to her feet, her eyes still on her friend. "No, not all. We have leftovers if you're hungry. Let me grab you a plate."

Like I said, she wouldn't say no.

Fidgeting in her seat, the girl from the plane looks like she might pass out at any minute.

This is going to be very interesting.

Stepping closer to the table, I shake my head. "Thanks, but I grabbed something at the beach."

Trent gets to his feet and holds out his hand. "Hey, man, how are you?"

I plop the twelve-pack of Corona in the center of the table, closer to my almost fuck buddy than any of the other three, and then I grasp his hand. "Living the dream, man, living the dream."

Clearing space for me on the table, he and Trish begin to stack some of the dirty dishes. "Austin, you know my bro, Gavin, don't you?" he says.

The douchebag stands and the girl from the plane follows.

Oh, good, we're all standing around the table now. Perfect. Fucking fantastic. Maybe we can join hands and say a little prayer.

"Yeah, we've met." I offer the douchebag my hand and we shake.

"Austin Moon," Trish says, sounding more cheerful than she had at first, "this is my best friend, Ally Dawson from New York."

Ally.

I like it.

It sounds good on my tongue.

Being a dick isn't something I make a habit out of, but there is no pretending we hadn't almost fucked less than twenty-four hours ago. Determined to make sure she hasn't forgotten, I step around Trish and Trent and dive right in to kiss her cheek, my hands grasping her arms maybe just a little too hard while I do. "Ally," I growl into her ear and then pull back. "I didn't think I'd see you again." _Considering the way you bolted on me_ , I don't bother adding.

She shivers under my touch and this close to her, I can see the rise and fall of her shoulders as her breath catches. "Trish told me you were her neighbor," she admits.

"You two know each other?" Trent asks, refilling wineglasses all around the table.

"Yeah, small world, right? They met on the plane," Trish tells Trent.

I throw Trish a confused look.

She shrugs. "Ally saw you talking to me at the airport, and asked if I knew you." Trish seems a little uncomfortable talking about it.

She knows.

She definitely knows.

"Let me get you a glass," she offers.

"No, I got it," Trent tells her and heads toward the house.

"Hey, man, I'm good with beer," I call to him.

"Then let me grab another chair from inside."

"Thanks, babe," Trish tells him, sitting down.

It was either going to be a chair from the kitchen or I'd be pulling a lounge up to their cozy table for four and stretching myself out on it. Maybe not a bad idea after all.

Gavin looks toward Ally and with his chin, indicates she should sit too. Blood boils in my veins when she starts to do so because of his silent request. Do they know each other? They can't. She's new and must be unaware of his reputation, in business and with women.

Unable to control myself, I move to push her chair in. "Here, let me help you," I offer, invading her space.

Ally looks like she's still having trouble breathing. I'm available for mouth-to-mouth if she needs it. I am certified, after all. "Thank you, but I'm good," she responds, her voice catching on the words.

Happy with the reaction I elicited, I let go of the chair, grab a beer, and offer it to Trish. "They're cold."

She nods, reaching out her hand. "Sure, I'll have one."

The gentleman that I am, I pop the top before handing it to her. Hoisting another bottle, I offer it to Gavin even though I'd rather not. Couldn't stand the dude before, really can't now. He raises a hand in refusal. "I'm good with wine."

Thumbing the top off, I tip the bottle back for a long swig. I need it.

Ally's eyes are on me, watching me, and that breathing of hers seems to be growing a little more excited with every swallow I make.

Time to find out what her deal is.

Figuring why the hell not, I take Trent's seat.

"Did you want a beer, Ally?" Gavin asks, glaring at me as if I'm the asshole he thinks I am.

"She doesn't drink beer," I bite out. "It bothers her stomach." And I glare back, knowing he is the asshole I think he is.

That shuts him up.

"Here you go." Trent is standing close to the table, with one of Trish's zebra leather kitchen chairs in his hands. When he sees I'm already sitting, he sets it between Trish and Gavin. "I'll take it."

I should offer to switch, but at this point, it's done, and besides, I'm right where I want to be.

Gavin stares at Ally and me as if trying to figure us out. "So tell me about how you two met."

She seems to have recovered from the shock of seeing me and sits up a little straighter, squaring her shoulders. This isn't the time to be drooling over a girl, but she looks sexy as fuck in that white dress, which hugs her small tits tightly and keeps them in the perfect place. I doubt she's wearing a bra, and the thought of sliding my hand inside the fabric gives me cause to sit up straighter myself.

She glares at me with what looks like a frown. When she turns and sweetly smiles at Gavin, it twists my gut. What the fuck? "We sat next to each on the plane, that's all," she tells him, not sounding the least bit convincing.

His dark eyes shift between the two of us in suspicion and then land on her hazel ones. "So let me get this straight: the two of you were seatmates for the long plane trip from New York to Miami and the entire time you never discovered you'd soon be neighbors?"

"No, we didn't." She laughs. "Crazy, right?"

Laughs. Like it's fucking funny. There's some insane madness circling my brain right now and I can't help but scowl. It's anything but funny. If she'd spoken to me after the bathroom, we might have.

The douche leans closer toward her and I tighten my grip on my bottle. "Guess you didn't talk much," he says smugly.

Fucking hell. Now that simply isn't true. Finishing another swig of my beer, I lean my elbows on the table. "Sure we did, didn't we, Ally?" I say to her— or maybe I hiss it, I'm not certain. Everything is a little red right now in my haze of anger. "In fact, our mouths never stopped moving," I toss out there because I can. Because it's true. My tongue moved inside her mouth, hers moved inside mine, we explored each other like we were searching for food and hadn't eaten in days.

Okay, so maybe everything is a little green, not red. Still, I'm not jealous. Just pissed. Fucking pissed as hell, actually.

There's this part of me that wants to go on and tell him that we got to know each other so well in fact that we almost fucked in the bathroom, but when I see her body stiffen, I stop myself.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Trish nudge Trent. Seconds later, he clears his throat. "Hey, Gavin, what do you think about calling that record label we know of, Ramone Records? Or maybe we can try Starr Records?"

Gavin swings his gaze toward Trent. "Yeah, that's a great idea. I'll do it tomorrow."

"I'm actually already working with a record label that I feel secure in." says Ally.

Smart girl.

The smirk on my face isn't for any reason. "So, you're thinking about selling those songs?" I ask her.

Ally switches her gaze back to mine and her eyes are small slits of fiery anger. Whoa, she is pissed. "Yes, I am. Trent and Gavin have already offered to help me out," she answers tersely. "And how do you know about them?"

Trish puts her hand up. "That would be me. I told him about your songs and how I thought you should sell them since you have stage fright and Austin is into music."

Gavin breezes right over this small exchange. "Listen, Ally, I know I said no more business tonight, but you really should consider us."

Gavin is an insistent bastard. A little pushy, if you ask me. "Starr Records is shit," I blurt out before Ally can even answer him.

Everyone around the table swings their heads in my direction.

Okay, I could have been a little more tactful.

He looks like he might lose his shit, and on me. Come on, bring it. I'm so ready to take him on. But when Ally hisses, "How would you even know anything about it? You're a lifeguard," I feel like she just slapped me.

Defenses up, I tell it like it is. "I know that because he's terrible with his artists."

Gavin points his finger at me. "You don't know what you're fucking talking about."

I push up from the table, ready to lunge across it. "Yeah, I do."

Ally grabs my arm and glares at me. "Stop it."

I glare back. "I will if you talk to me. Alone. Right now."

Two choices. Ignore me and learn how badly this douchebag runs his business or talk to me and I'll stand down. She looks at me with those big eyes filled with anger. "Yes, talking is probably a good idea."

I give her a nod. It's about fucking time she tells me what happened on that plane. Ally turns to Gavin and whispers something. My fists ball at my sides, ready to take him on. He nods and then glares at me. "We aren't done here, Moon."

Plucking the beer from the table if only to stop myself from punching him right this second, I glare right back. "No, we're not, but our beef is meant for another place."

I look toward Trish. "Sorry about this."

She glares at me, too.

This mood of mine has put me in a ton of shit.

"Come find me, anytime. You know where I am," Gavin barks out.

"I will," I tell him, and then stalk for the privacy doors that lead to the beach with Ally hot on my heels.

The door slams closed behind her and I keep walking all the way down to the water. When I reach the shoreline, I drop the beer to the sand and turn around.

Within moments she catches up to me. The moon and stars above are our only light, and the beach is quiet except for the sounds of the waves lapping against the shore. We're alone. All alone.

Ally points her finger at me. "Why are you being such an asshole?"

Tired of this game, or whatever it is, I step toward her and the words slip off my tongue without thought. "Why are you being such an uptight bitch?"

The look on her face is as if I'd stabbed her. Rather than responding to me, she starts running down the beach.

"Ally, wait," I call out.

"Go to hell."

Baby, I'm already there.


	7. Chapter 7

Ally

"Why are you being such an uptight bitch?" The words he spoke are still echoing in my ears.

Ringing.

Stinging.

Causing way too much pain.

The only eight words in the world that could destroy me and he managed to find them. Just keep moving, I tell myself. You ran track. He'll give up. One sandal, then the other, gets lost in the sand. I don't care. I just keep going. My heart is beating so fast that it's catching in my throat and causing my body to tremble.

"Ally, wait." His voice is close.

I run faster. Arms moving. Legs lunging. My dress blowing in the wind, sand swirling in my wake, the water splashing me as I move along the shore.

"Ally, stop." He's catching up with me.

I ignore him and his manwhore, slutting, gigolo ways.

A hand grabs for me.

Furious that he caught up with me, maybe more so that he struck a nerve I wanted to keep buried, I lose my footing and stumble. Before I can catch myself, I'm on the ground. Facedown in the sand, and he's on top of me. Again. "Get off me!" I scream, pressing my arms into the sand and trying to push myself up.

Gently, he grabs my wrists, and even more gently, he whispers in my ear, "I'm not going to hurt you; I just want to talk. That's all."

The scent of him, no longer lavender, but so extremely man, is intoxicating. Yet it's the feel of him on top of me that makes me freeze. My muscles clench and by body goes stiff. Strange thing is, it's not fear doing this to me, it's arousal. For heaven's sake, my body needs to get a life. I twist my neck toward the sky. "Okay," I concede. "You have five minutes."

With that, he rises from his prone position and plops down next to me.

Pushing myself up from the sand, I sit beside him and wipe the granules from my face and hands with as much dignity as I can muster. Once I feel like I can face him, I turn my head his way.

His palms are behind him in the sand, legs stretched in front of him, that body of his long and lean. "You're fast," he says, drawing in a breath.

Ignoring the flutters in my belly from just catching sight of him, I swallow my attraction and resume my angry stance before I glower at him. "I ran track in high school."

Those eyes of his are looking out into the ocean. "I can tell."

Enough small talk. Time is ticking. "What do you want to talk about?"

His head whips in my direction. "What do I want to talk about?" His tone is laced with bitterness.

Matching his tone is easy. "Yes, that's what I asked."

There's a slight grunt-like noise of disbelief escaping his throat. "How about we start with the way you shut down on the plane after we got caught. I didn't peg you to be such—" he stops there, not finishing his sentence.

I do it for him. "An uptight bitch, right? That's what you want to say. After all, it's what you called me."

He briefly closes his eyes. "I shouldn't have said that, I'm sorry, but you shouldn't have called me an asshole, either."

Anger curls in my gut. "You're right; there's a whole other category of names I should have used."

Totally off topic here.

Austin lifts his head, eyes heated. "What the hell are you talking you about?"

My mouth trembles with emotion. I'm uncertain why I care about the way he treated the brunette, but deep down I know why. Is that the way he treats all women after he gets what he wants? Unwilling to let this pass, I put it out there without much thought as to the very unpretty light it casts upon me. "Two nights ago you were at a bar."

His jaw clenches and the tension is thick between us. "Yeah, I was. How do you know that?"

Okay, so any remaining dignity I have is about to be washed out to sea. I suck in a breath and decide to make my confession as quick and painless as possible. "I was there. I'd ducked into a private room to rest my feet and check my messages. I dropped my phone and had to reach under the table to get it. That's when you came in with a woman."

"You were in that room?"

The night is warm, but my legs are wet and the wind blowing against them causes me to shiver. "Yes. I'm not proud that I didn't say anything, but it all happened so fast. Anyway, I can't undo that. Still, I saw you with that woman. Well, kind of. I never saw your face. Like I said, I was under the table. But I did see her open your shirt and, and," I stumble on my words and gulp down the memory, "I saw your tattoo. It's very distinctive."

More than likely struck speechless, because I'm certain I would be in his position, he just stares at me.

Nothing else to do but continue to drown in his gaze, I go on. "Then, when we were in the bathroom last night, I saw that same tattoo. Up until then, I had no idea you were the same guy from the bar. And after seeing it, I freaked out because I felt like I was just another notch in your belt."

"A what?" he growls.

"You know, another conquest, another love-them-and-leave-them encounter, another girl to do whatever it is you do with."

That stare of his could be deadly. "I know what you meant."

Feeling slightly bad at the way my angry little tirade came across, I go on. "I mean, obviously I know you didn't screw that girl even though she wanted you to, so I guess that means something."

Hauling himself to his feet, he looks down at me. "You don't know shit about what was going on." He stalks off, leaving me feeling guilty.

Getting to my feet, I chase him, wondering if I pushed too far. "Austin, wait— you're the one who wanted to talk, so talk to me."

Waves lap up over his boots and onto the denim of his pants, but he doesn't seem to care. I follow in his footprints, my toes sinking in the wet sand with every step, collecting my shoes along the way. When we reach the spot where we started, he takes a beer, opens it, and sits right down in the surf.

Following suit, I do the same, beer and all. The first sip is hard to get down, but the second is a little easier, and by the third, I don't taste the carbonation any longer.

"I thought you couldn't drink beer?" His voice is rough, and it reminds me of that night when I thought he was broken.

I look over at him painted in the shadow of the moon. "I can't, but I think right now is the perfect time to risk the consequences."

Shrugging, he takes a long pull of his beer. "Not that I owe you an explanation, but Brooke and I were together for over five years. We met our sophomore year in high school and then went to Columbia Business School together."

Surprised by his candor, I feel my own guard slipping. I know what's coming next has to be bad. Not only from his tone, but also because of his demeanor with her that night. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Another swig of beer and he drops the empty in the holder and grabs another. "With you? I think I'll pass."

Okay, I deserved that.

Boy, did I make an ass of myself by referring to him as only a lifeguard. Just reflecting on that comment makes me feel like a catty bitch. And I'm not. I don't judge. So, why did I say it? Because the situation was awkward and I act out in anger when I find myself in an uncomfortable position.

I really need to work on that.

Liquid courage. I need liquid courage. I down the remaining beer in my bottle and, like him, grab another. "Look, sorry can't even begin to explain how I feel right now. Still, like it or not, we're neighbors. We might not be friends who borrow cups of sugar from each other, but I really don't want to us be enemies, either."

When he looks over at me, I'm surprised to see a smirk on his face. "Frenemies have benefits, you know?"

The beer sloshes in my belly and I swear I feel it bubbling. The small hiccup that escapes my throat can't be missed. My hand flies to my mouth and I cover it, repeating the word frenemies as a question around my fingers.

This time, when he racks his beer, he doesn't take another. Instead, he reaches over and wraps his long fingers around the neck of my bottle. Our hands lightly touch and I feel the slight impact like an instant shot of desire. The way his mouth parts tells me he does, too. "You've had enough," he laughs, dropping my bottle beside his. "And frenemies are friends who are enemies. They don't talk much, they have a hard time getting along, and they usually fuck."

That word again, bold and direct, but so freaking sexy.

Not wanting to ruin the mood, I play right along. "I'm not sure friends who are enemies necessarily screw each other's brains out."

That brow rises, the one I want to put on repeat. "'Screw each other's brains out'— that's quite a visual."

I give a noncommittal shrug. "I said, I'm not sure if they do that. What if all they ever do is argue?"

The wind blows my hair in my face, and he moves closer to push it aside. "If that is the case, that would be a dirty shame."

Breathing heavily, I want to lean forward to kiss him. To put all of this behind us and make frenemies with him, right now.

"So Brooke and I," he starts, and I lean back instead of forward, "broke up because she cheated on me, with my dad."

Oh, my God!

The gasp I let out can't be stopped.

His laugh is dry. "Yeah, right. The almighty Mike Moon had to have what was mine."

I know he must have cared for her. I can hear it in his voice, see it on his face, interpret it from the words he uses. The fact that he called the brunette mine doesn't get past me either.

He pulls his knees closer and drops his head. "It was Thanksgiving, and Brooke and I had spent the day with my mom in Brooklyn. While there, she got called into work, so we planned to meet at her place later. She worked for my dad and I didn't think a thing about it because it happened to everyone who worked for him— you were on call night and day. It was the first Thanksgiving without"— he stops, draws a breath, and then goes on, "since my parents' divorce and my sister was in Paris on an internship, so when I left my mother's, I felt bad that my father had spent it alone and decided to stop by his kingdom in Manhattan and check on him."

The moonlight reflects off the water and highlights his handsome silhouette. I want to reach out and provide comfort, touch him, soothe him in some way, but something tells me he's not looking for that.

Another breath. An even longer exhale. "When I got there, I used my key and walked in. I thought he might be eating Thanksgiving dinner alone, but what I found wasn't what I expected. There he was all right, eating, just not turkey, and not alone. His face was buried right between Brooke's legs, and her ass was planted right on the dining room table."

Oh, my God, she really was the devil.

"Austin, I'm so, so sorry."

Lifting his head in my direction, he stares at me with dead eyes. Like the thought of what happened had killed his spirit. I get it. For the longest time, I thought I might be dead inside, until he touched me. Again he gives a dry laugh. "Shit happens."

Boy, he isn't kidding. "Want to hear about the shit that happened to me?" I ask.

That puts a small light in his eyes. "Did you just swear?"

"Oh, I swear," I say indignantly.

He laughs.

"I do. Like a sailor. Shit. Hell. Fuck."

Austin gives a low whistle. "Wow. Total rebel."

I narrow my eyes at him. "I'm serious. In fact, when my shit happened, I threw two double middle fingers in the air right on the streets of Manhattan."

Done making fun of me, he grows serious. "Tell me more."

Without liquid courage, I have to dig deep to stop the burn of tears that threaten to spill at the memory. "Elliot and I had met after high school. He interned for a small, private wealth management firm on Wall Street. Our relationship progressed quickly and one year after we met, he asked me to marry him."

"You were engaged?"

I shook my head, "I'm not ready for marriage just yet."

"What happened?"

"One night I decided to surprise him."

Uncertain if I should go on, reveal the mortification of it all, I pause.

"Surprise him how?" Austin prompts.

This time it's me who laughs. "Okay, this might be as embarrassing as witnessing you receiving oral sex."

Austin cringes. "At least call it what is was, a blow job, will you? And by the way, did you see anything?"

Feeling a little hot and bothered at the thought of really seeing his big, thick cock, I know immediately when my nipples pop.

Great.

"No, I didn't see anything. Only the back of Brooke's head."

Austin's eyes are on my small buds in an instant. To his benefit, in white, they must be really hard to miss. "Well, not sure if that's good or bad, for you," he says, "but we're off track— finish your story."

Ignoring the sexual energy surrounding us, I settle my gaze on him and wait for his eyes to lift. And wait. And wait. And wait. "Austin," I say.

"Yeah," he answers.

"Could you look up here?" I point to my face.

That does the trick. But then I'm distracted by the swipe at his lips with that tongue that had so expertly sucked and licked at my neck. Laughing, he clears his throat. "Sorry, I'm good now."

I find myself laughing along with him for no reason at all, especially considering I am about to tell him one of the most painful things that ever happened to me in my life. Weird how suddenly I find it rather funny and can even laugh at myself, which I do as I speak. "So, like I said, I wanted to surprise him. He'd been working late hours and we hadn't had much time together. That night he was again working late. So I waited until I knew he'd be home to go over there. It was a rainy night, and I wore my raincoat and nothing else."

Austin's chest rises and falls faster and faster. "Let me get this straight. You, the good girl, went over to your boyfriend's place naked?"

Embarrassed, I look down at the sand and find a seashell. Picking it up, I toss it out into the ocean. "Not naked. I told you: I was wearing a raincoat."

There's a shell in his hand and he's throwing it. "Yeah, I got that."

Fingers still in the sand, I rake them through it over and over and watch the water wipe the marks away. If only life's scars disappeared so easily. Ripping the Band-Aid off quickly, I decide to go on and just put it out there. "Like you had at your father's, I used my key to get in. He was standing in the living room on the other side of the couch. Feeling triumphant, I unwrapped my coat, flung it open, and yelled 'surprise.' Imagine my surprise when I saw Elliot was naked on the other side of that couch, with someone dressed in leather on their knees." I raise my gaze to his. "Don't you dare make a joke about me seeing another, as you so kindly told me to say, blow job."

His hand covers mine in the sand. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"Good, because unlike you, who were with an ex-girlfriend, my boyfriend was with a hooker. Later, I found out his boss had been pressuring him to take on more of a family role if he wanted to move up the ladder. And I was the one who fit the bill for the family role."

Instead of throwing me a pity party like most people do when they hear the story, Austin surprises me when he asks, "Were you not giving him what he wanted in the sack?"

Shocked, I pull my hand away and hop to my feet. "I am not an uptight bitch."

Austin rises as well, wetter than I in his jeans. "I didn't say you were."

Giving him my back, I head toward the house. "Well, Elliot did. In fact, it was the last thing he said to me." I toss the words over my shoulder.

This time when Austin catches up to me, he whirls me around to face him. "I asked you a question."

I ignore him.

"Hey, I'm just asking because I can't figure out why any guy would want anyone else when he had you."

Hot tears stream down my face. "If you must know, he never gave me any indication what we had wasn't enough. If he wanted more he only had to ask. I'd have given him anything. Turns out I couldn't give him the one thing he wanted."

"Which was?"

"Cock. The hooker was a male dressed as a female."

His reaction is to let out a stream of expletives. "Then you have nothing to be upset about. It was all him. He's a fucking needy john who obviously wouldn't know a good thing if it were staring him right in his fucking face."

In the midst of the heaviness, I find myself laughing. "Did you just call him a john? Isn't that like from the turn of the century or something?"

He shrugs. "No fucking clue. All I know is that he was using a hooker for sex, and that makes him one."

Practically bending over with laughter, I wish so much I would have thought to say that to him. Called him a john. Shouted it from the rooftop. Elliot would have keeled over in embarrassment and probably had a heart attack. Wouldn't want to tarnish his shiny image and all. I never found out if he preferred males to females; I doubt he did. I think he was just looking for adventure. Honestly, I didn't want to know.

Mirth glitters in Austin's eyes as he looks at me. "We both definitely ended up with two very fucked-up people."

Finally able to stop laughing, I look him over from top to toe. "And you know what I say to that?" I tell him.

The sexiest smirk lifts the corners of his mouth. "What?"

Raising my arm, I turn toward the east and salute the sky with my middle finger. "Fuck them."

"Hell yeah, that's the way to do it, naughty girl," he says, and follows suit. "Fuck you, Brooke!" he shouts.

"And fuck you, Elliot!" I yell.

"May you have the worst sex of your life for the next hundred years," Austin tacks on.

Both saluting the people we left behind in New York, we laugh until we can't laugh anymore.

When we lower our arms, Austin places his hands on my hips and pulls me a little closer. Within moments, his fingers trail up to my neck and then stop at my cheeks. Holding my face in his palms, he smirks, "With all the talk about blow jobs, I can't stop thinking about you wrapping your mouth around my cock."

Trembling under his touch, I say what I want to say without worrying that it sounds too forward. "And I haven't been able to stop thinking about doing just that, and giving you the best blow job of your life."

Yeah, so what if it's on that stupid list. I still want to do it. For me. And for him.

His response is to look at me with the most smoldering gaze I've ever seen. Hot mess and all. And I swear I can feel the heat of it all over my skin. "Blow jobs aside for now, if we start this again, this time I plan to finish... inside you." The growl-like threat is so cocky, so exciting, and so unlike any male sound I've ever heard.

Stomach fluttering with a million tiny wings, I'm done waiting. Wanting the same thing he does, I close any distance between us and crash my lips to his. Sucking, licking, and devouring as much of him as I can.


	8. Chapter 8

this chapter came a bit early... and is also VERY rated r.

enjoy! x

* * *

Austin

Usually the line is "Your place or mine?"

Not in this case. Uncertain if Trish still has company, I take Ally's hand and lead her quietly to my house.

"Fuck," I curse when the back door is locked. Looks like we're going around to the front.

"What are you doing?" Ally asks.

"That should be pretty clear— trying to get you to my room."

"We can't go inside like this," she whispers, looking down at her sand-covered body.

I look down at my own clothes, which are much worse off than hers. "Sure we can."

That adorable head shake and scolding demeanor only make my cock throb and ache for escape. "I need to get this sand off me, Austin. Like now."

Trying not to huff, I change direction and head toward the beach entrance. This house is a rental and nowhere near as nice as Trish's. It has no fence or patio or built-in grill. Our outdoor living space consists of a slab of grass with a couple of flimsy lounge chairs on it, but we do have an outdoor shower.

"Stand right here," I tell Ally.

She looks up toward the small showerhead. "Is it going to be cold?"

Taking off my shirt and pants, I toss them in a pile and stand in front of her in my white boxer briefs. "What do you think?"

Her gaze rakes over me, and the look is hot as hell. "I'm not taking my clothes off out here. Anyone can see."

"I didn't tell you to, did I? And besides, I can still see plenty through that wet, white fabric."

She shakes her head. "Not only do you have a dirty mind, but you're awful bossy, you know that?"

"Bossy, no. In charge, yes."

This time she rolls her eyes at me.

Holding back my snicker, I decide to prove it. I pull the chain and then feel a little bad when ice-cold water sprays over both our heads.

"Ahhhhhhhhh, that's freezing, Austin!" she screams, looking up at me with those eyes I want to get lost in.

Needing to quiet her down or we'll have Trish peering over her fence, I lower my head and capture her mouth with mine. Our lips meet, softly at first, but with enough pressure that there's a tightening in my cock. The rapid beat of my pulse can't be denied, just like the taste of her on my tongue is unlike anything I've ever had. The water flowing over me might be cold, but the hunger within me is spinning hot and out of control. Lost to the moment, I open her wider and kiss her faster, deeper, and harder still.

Soon enough, she stops flailing, and even though the fire in my veins smokes and flames as she presses her body to mine, I know it's time to stop, out here, anyway. Still, doing so is hard with her slight curves molding against me, aligned in such a way that her pussy is flush against my cock.

Shivering, she shifts, pulling away from my mouth. Unable to control the pull I have toward her, I yank her to me to feel her one more time before letting her go. Like this, still so close, I find myself groaning softly into her hair and feel my muscles knotting in anticipation.

Every nerve in my body is aware of her. I want to fuck her so hard, finish what we started and do it all over again. Now more than ready to get out of here, I brush her wet hair aside and kiss behind her ear. "Do you think you're clean enough yet?" I murmur. If she says no, I might just have to lick the sand away.

She jerks her head up and stares at me. We remain like this, eyes locked, unmoving, her closeness turning me inside out until she finally says, "Yes, I think I'm clean enough. Come on, let's go."

Smirking, I turn the water off. "We have to go around to the front. I didn't bring my keys to get in the back door."

Already heading in the right direction, she leads the way, and I let her. "That's fine," she says, moving fast.

Once there, she stops.

Standing behind her on the front porch, I lean down. "Now listen," I whisper into her ear before I open the door, "I know you tend to like sexual public displays, therefore this is fair warning: my roommate has a guest over, so try not to get too excited and attack me until we at least make it to my room, or it might be you on public display this time if they walk out into the family room."

Whirling around like a little firecracker, she places her palms on my chest and rakes her nails down it, rough, sharp, and such a turn-on. "I'm giving you fair warning right now, I have a real angry streak that tends to rear its ugly head in awkward situations, and I don't think you want to be on the other end of that with your pants down."

After considering using my hands to cover my dick and balls, I opt for raising them surrender style instead. "Whoa, down, girl— save it for the bedroom."

A very wicked smile spreads across her luscious-looking lips. "Say 'down, girl' one more time and you won't be needing pants ever again."

"You know, you could throw me a bone here," I tell her, trying not to laugh at her attempt to scare me.

She raises a brow. "What are you, a dog?"

A grin lights up my face. "I'm not past begging."

Feigning shock at the thought, or maybe really shocked, she covers her mouth with her hand. "You didn't seriously just say that?"

I take a step closer, pinning her against the door and caging her in with my arms on either side of her. "I'll drop to my knees right now to prove it."

"How can I turn that offer down?" she breathes hot against my neck.

Just as I'm about to do it, the front door swings open and Ally goes flying backward, crashing right into Dez.

Holding onto her to keep upright, he laughs. "Whoa, bro, what is going on?" Dez first looks at Ally in her white dress dripping wet and then at me standing in my boxers, also white, both leaving little to the imagination.

Ally surprises me when she stands straight, pushes her hair back, and smiles like nothing is out of the ordinary. "Hi, Dez, I'm your new neighbor, Ally Dawson."

Dez grins at her. "Ally, as in Trish's best friend, Ally?"

Squaring her shoulders, she holds her hand out. "The one and only."

As if this whole scene is normal, he glances at me, and then her. "Far out, nice to meet you," he says and pulls her in for a hug.

"I'm all wet," Ally tells him as if he hadn't noticed.

Pulling back, he smirks at her. "Oh, the places I could take that, but so I don't embarrass my boy Austin here, I will refrain."

"Appreciate that, bro."

"I'm headed out to grab some food. You want to come?"

Yes, I want to come, but not with Dez. Shoving the thought aside for now, I take over from here and answer for the two of us. "No, we're good, but you take your time."

"See you around," he tells Ally and closes the door behind him.

"You handled that well," I laugh.

With narrowed eyes, she wrinkles her nose at me. "Not like I had much of a choice."

Jerking her to me, I run my hands up and down that hot little body of hers. "Baby, that's nothing. I hope you're not tired. I plan to spend all night with you."

She bites my lip, almost hard enough to draw blood. "When are you going to put your money where your mouth is, Austin Moon?"

"First things first," I tell her, grabbing my phone off the coffee table where I left it when I first got home from work and typing out a message.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

"Keeping Trish off my back."

She grabs my phone as I press send and reads the message: "Ally won't be rejoining your dinner party. Hope I didn't piss you off too much. I'll make it up to you at Pinkberry later this week. Promise."

"Pinkberry." She smirks. "You like Pinkberry?"

"Not me, gorgeous; your best friend does, though."

"I hope you weren't trying to be territorial with that text."

Scooping her up, I toss her smart ass over my shoulder. "Nope, it's about putting my money where my mouth is, Ally Dawson."

Those small fists bat against my ass. "Set me down."

"Harder, baby, harder," I laugh. "I like it rough."

Once the garage, my room is in the back of the house behind the kitchen and down a small hallway. As with all of these old beach homes, modifications were made to allow for more than one bedroom. My room doesn't have a view of the ocean, but it's private.

Kicking my door shut, I ease her slowly down my body.

Again, she pushes her hair from her eyes. "Next time, I'm perfectly capable of walking."

That hot button of hers is certainly a lot of fun. "Next time." I raise a brow. "Does that mean you already want more of me?"

At that, she clamps her mouth shut.

"Well, shit," I say, "that might be a no. Looks like I'd better prove myself worthy of a redo."

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I know they sound dumb, like I'm looking for more. I'm not.

Or I don't think I am.

Before she can speak, I yank that tie on her dress that I know will reveal all. "So here's how this going to go. First, I'm going to taste your sweet pussy and eat you like you are my last meal, and then I'm going to fuck you like you've never been fucked."

She gasps the sexiest little noise and her eyes are like giant saucers. Those fucking _do me_ eyes that make my cock thicker with a just a glance.

Dress parted, she stands in front of me breathing heavily and showing me just a glimpse of her smooth, pale skin. "I thought you wanted that blow job we seem never to be able to stop talking about?"

I place my finger over her parted lips. "I want this mouth wrapped around my dick more than I want anything, but all in due time."

Here I am promising more when now hasn't even taken place yet. What the fuck is wrong with me?

Sucking in a breath, I push the wet fabric from her shoulders and just like I thought, she's braless. I toss her dress and when it lands on my brother's picture, I falter for a moment. Exhaling, I look at her standing before me in nothing more than a skimpy white thong, and I pull my shit together.

Moments pass and then she runs her hands down her body, and I think I might explode right this minute. "Fuck, you're sexy as hell."

"You have a dirty mouth."

"And you like it."

Before I can move, her lips glide over mine. "Maybe I do."

Quick as a flash, I find those sweet lips again. She tastes of the sea and they feel velvety soft— a delicious combination.

We lick, suck, and taste each other like we know each other. And in a way, we do. Step by step, I pull her along with me toward my bed. When the backs of her legs hit the mattress, I break the kiss.

"Hold on a second," I tell her and tug down the comforter that haphazardly covers the sheets.

She grins at me.

"What?"

"I wouldn't have pegged you as the kind of guy to unmake your bed before sex."

I raise a brow. "You're already thinking about pegging, are you? I have to be honest, the dildic arts aren't really my thing."

There may be a blush creeping up her cheeks. "Dildic arts?"

"You know, big ol' fake penises to stimulate the prostate gland."

Her hands go to her hips. "That's not what I mean and you know it."

"Maybe I do. Maybe I don't. Why don't you come over here and tell me the kind of guy you did peg me for? The bend-over-the-desk type, or doggy style on a bed?"

She shrugs. "Stop it. That's enough."

Not really caring that she doesn't have an answer, I reach for her. "Well, I did it in case you were cold, smart-ass."

That gives her cause to step into my outreached arms and throw hers around my neck. "I think you can warm me up just fine."

"You've got that right." My hands grip her hips, and when I close the last of the distance between us, we fall into the bed in a tangle of limbs and laughter. Flesh to flesh, and it feels so fucking good.

Pushing her up to the top of the bed, I crawl over her and stare down into her hooded eyes. "I want to taste you."

Her breathing picks up. "God, I want that too."

Hands all over her, I can't get enough of the feel of her damp skin.

"Austin," she breathes.

"Yeah," I manage as my gaze travels down her body.

Pulling me closer, her lips skim down my neck to center over the pulse in my throat. Ally sucks, gently, then takes the skin between my teeth. The bite doesn't hurt, but the sensation goes right to my cock. "Please don't make me wait. I've waited long enough."

I don't think my pulse has raced at an uncontrollable level like this ever. She's so fucking beautiful beneath me with her long, brown hair fanning out over the sheets of my bed, her breasts small but perky, and her body open and ready for me. Sucking in a breath, I draw my lips down her neck and stop at the hollow below it. Nipping at the taste of her delicious skin, I dip my tongue in and out of the space. "I promise I won't."

Pushing me down her body, she moans, "I'm going to hold you to that promise."

Fueled by excitement, I continue down and over the small curves of her breasts and then stop to suck and lick her already pebbled nipples.

Her back arches with that sexy moan and my dick twitches in response. When my lips skate over her ribs and skim down to her navel, I stop only to pull her skimpy white panties down.

"Fuck," I mutter in appreciation when I finally get to see what I'd only gotten to feel for the shortest of seconds.

A shiver shakes her body. "When you say that word it sounds so freaking sexy."

Smiling to myself, I know I'll be saying it often.

Spreading her legs even wider, I stroke my tongue across her smooth pussy just once. Yeah, I knew I was going to love this. I fucking love that she's bare, love the lack of any barrier between us, the fact that she's so sensitive.

A gentle kiss on her thigh, then another and another. I trace a half-moon around her pussy from one side to the other. She squirms and her fists clench the sheets. I feel a grin cross my lips when I see how turned on she is. When I get to the other thigh, I lift my face to look at her. "Watch me," I tell her.

"What?" she asks, almost confused.

"I want you to watch me make you come."

She sits up on her elbows.

With her eyes on me, I quickly descend to cover her clit with my mouth. I suck on it immediately and she cries out, sending adrenaline shooting through my veins. Next, I place a soft kiss in the same place I just engulfed with my mouth and suck on it again. She whimpers, alternating between sounds of pleasure and pain— the pained sounds come when I stop; the pleasured moans escalate with every suck. I take her to the edge and then ease off. Wanting her to thoroughly enjoy this, I do it over and over. "You're so wet," I groan, circling her clit before plunging my tongue inside her.

"Oh, God," she moans.

"Do you like that?" I ask, already knowing she does.

"Yes," she answers through gritted teeth.

"Do you want me to do it again?"

"Yes," she cries out, her legs stiffening in anticipation.

I look up at her. "Are you sure?"

I know she wants to roll her eyes at me, but instead she says, "Yes," in a pant.

With the moonlight shining in on us, I devour every single inch of her. Her fingers thread in my hair. And when my fingers move her apart and my tongue dips way deep inside, she tugs on my locks. When her knees pop up and her toes dig into my calves, I know she's close. Needing to see her face, I stop for a moment and look up.

"No, Austin. Please don't stop," she says, her words choppy, sounding as though she's having trouble speaking.

"I won't. Just tell me what you want me to do," I groan, my words coming out with equal effort.

"What do you mean?"

"Tell me what you want."

"I want you to make me come, Austin. Make me come like I never have."

A smug feeling settles over me and without another thought, my mouth covers her sweet pussy again. This time I lick and suck at the same time, giving her everything I have, and help her find her release.

"Yes!" she screams. "Oh, God, yes."

My hands find her toes curled into my calves and I clutch them as she rides another wave of pleasure and then another. With my heart pounding in my ears, I crawl up her body. Hovering over her, I gaze down at her. "Are you ready for more?"

Her hands move to slide my boxers down. "More than ready. Take these off," she tells me. No, she orders me. Orders me with such a cute voice that I almost laugh out loud.

Jumping to my feet, I find myself obeying. "Whatever you say," I laugh, unable to hold it in.

Raising herself to her elbows once again, her eyes dart right to my crotch. "Stay there a minute— I want to see your cock."

Practically choking, I am at a loss for words. Laughter rolls out of me. No girl has ever said that to me.

"Don't laugh. Unlike you, I didn't get to sample the goods ahead of time. I want to see you. Come closer."

Oh yeah, I do. "And here I've been calling you a good girl. Are you a sex addict? Because you have moves that are definitely addicting," I say. And it's so fucking true. I already want to taste her again. I want to watch her come again. I want her again and I haven't even had her yet. She's that addicting.

No joke, she stares at my cock and talks at the same time. "I only wish that were true," she laughs. "I don't know, with you I feel comfortable being honest, telling you what I want. Weird, right?"

I lean down and capture her mouth with mine. "Not weird at all. Tell me what you want right now— I'll make it happen."

Her hands find my cock, then just like that, one of her fingers goes right to that spot beneath it. "What are you? A genie in the bottle?"

Fuck, if I weren't already ready for her, what she's doing right now would make me hard instantly. "Just call me Aladdin."

"Get on top of me, Aladdin."

Complying, I do just that. "Ah, you're a missionary kind of girl, so you are a good girl," I tell her, stretching and hooking open my nightstand drawer with a finger.

The movement brings my chest close to her mouth and she licks me. The feel of it makes me shiver. This girl is smoking hot. How could any guy have ever cheated on her?

Grabbing a handful of condoms, I pull back and open my hand. "You pick."

She laughs. "That is quite the collection. Let me see them."

Sitting up, I fan them out, not at all proud that she just called them a collection.

Taking the lot from my hand, with a laugh she says, "I haven't used condoms in a while. I never realized there were so many options."

Lifting her chin to look at me, I ask, "When was the last time you had sex?"

Lowering her gaze to read one of the labels, she answers, "Not since Elliot."

In my case, I can't say the same. Ever since Brooke cheated on me I find myself fucking around whenever I want, because I can, because I never did when I was with her. And yeah, maybe it is a way to stick it to her. Who the hell knows.

Anyway, I don't ask Ally any more questions because I can't stand to hear his name roll off her tongue. Not that I'm possessive or territorial, because I'm not. I just hate the guy for what he did to her. That's all.

Redirecting my attention to her, I watch as she looks over her choices.

A smile prods her lips. "Wow. Ribbed, Feather Light, Extra-Lubricated, Strawberry, or Glow in the Dark."

I pluck the Strawberry condom from her pile. "Not this one— that came free in one of the boxes," I tell her and drop it to my floor.

"And not this one, either," she says, taking the Glow in the Dark package and tossing it aside. "That is just plain ridiculous."

"Well, I wouldn't say that."

She raises a brow.

"Okay, maybe a little," I concede. "Let's start with this one." I tap the Ribbed package.

She raises that brow again and is left with one package in her hand. "Start?"

Setting the others on the nightstand, I roll onto my back and place my hands behind my head, dick standing at attention. "Yep, start," I say, rather bemused and more than ready.

Staring at the condom, she says, "You want me to do it?"

"Absolutely." I smirk.

Perhaps nervous, and I can tell that by the way her hands are shaking, she rips open the package and straddles my thighs. When she strokes up my erection, I push my hips forward. I can't help myself.

She does it again, and this time I untuck a hand from behind my head and slip it between her legs. Her shiver isn't to be missed.

I rub. She strokes. We stare at each other and within minutes we are both panting. When I slide my finger inside her and feel how fucking wet she is, I blurt out, "I can't wait any longer."

"Can you do this? I never have," she asks.

I shake my head no. "I want you to."

"Fine," she mutters and with her hands still shaking, she finally rolls the condom over my very ready dick.

I grip her hips. "See, I knew you could."

Ally leans forward and places her hands on my shoulders. "I thought you were ready?"

I look into her eyes and shift her body slightly so that my cock is aligned with her pussy, and then slowly she begins to lower herself on top of me.

Oh, fuck. She feels incredible.

She stares down at me, and I nod. Soon following, she lowers herself farther. With slow, steady surges, my hips rise and fall. Moments later, she starts to move with me. We find a rhythm almost at once.

My hands grip her hips. She shifts, and the change in angle makes every thrust feel deeper, more intimate, more intense. I look at her closed eyes, her parted lips, the look of contentment on her face. "Ally."

She opens her eyes.

My tongue slips out of my mouth to lick my lips. "I love fucking you like this... you look so hot when your tits bounce up and down."

Biting her lip, she arches her back as if wanting to show me more.

My words come faster now. "Your pussy wraps my cock so tightly."

"Yes, yes," she pants, riding me harder, faster.

Tugging on the long strands of her hair, I pull her head to mine. I nip at her lip with my teeth and she nips back. Then I press my mouth to hers and attack it as hungrily as I feel. Soon, I'm fucking her mouth with mine.

She moans loudly and calls out my name a few times and I'm pretty sure she's just as far gone as I am.

Stopping my assault on her lips, I whisper in her ear, "I'm so deep inside you, so close, I'm ready to come... Are you?"

Her response is to raise her body and then slam it down on my cock.

"Oh, fuck," I mutter, "now I'm really going to come."

Wetting her lips with a satisfied smirk on her face, she does it again.

My hips surge to follow her rhythm.

Her chest rises and falls rapidly. "The answer to your question is yes," she moans. Goose bumps form along her arms and she cries out this time more frantically, "Yes, yes, yes!"

Halfway between a prayer and a curse, I shout out a string of words that make no sense and start to come. As I grip her hips tightly, she arches her spine and leans back. Fuck, that feels incredible. I find myself saying her name over and over as the pressure wells deep, deep, deeper than I can ever remember. When a tingling sensation strikes the tip of my cock from the way her pussy squeezes it, I jerk my hips up. It feels fucking unbelievable.

Ally shifts, leaning forward and pressing her palms to my chest, which makes the spasming only amp up into contraction-like tremors, and then that tingling turns into a current of electricity and shoots from my cock through my entire body. The incredible feeling doesn't fade quickly, though, it only builds, and as I let myself go, I cross that threshold of indescribable pleasure over and over until I'm spent.

Fingers clutching her hips so tightly I worry she might get bruises, I ease off and reach a hand to twine in her hair. Her eyes are still closed and I tug the strands to pull her mouth down to mine. "Come here."

"I am," she giggles. "You don't have to pull my hair."

"You like it a little rough, I can tell," I say, rolling us over.

Gently, she pushes the hair that has fallen into my eyes aside. "I can honestly say before tonight I would have vehemently denied that, but the jury is out on that right now. My swollen lips and the bruises on my hips might just be deliciously sore later or hurt like hell— I'll let you know." Her tone is playful, light, relaxed. She's easy like that. I honestly can't remember the last time I had this much fun.

I'm still inside her and matching her tender touch, I kiss her softly in the aftermath of that hurricane-like sex we just had. That felt fucking amazing. This time when I think it, I have a weird thought that the feeling isn't going to fade anytime soon.

For some reason, the idea of it grabs me and occupies my mind for a bit.

But not for long because it's time to take care of business, so I pull back.

Giving me a lazy smile, she gazes at me. I think for the first time since meeting her, I can see in her eyes what she really feels. They're more than unguarded, they're unshuttered, wide open, and she looks incredibly vulnerable.

An uneasy feeling courses through me. I need to be careful and proceed with caution. Fun. We're just looking to have fun. My life is so fucked up, I can't allow someone else to be a part of it. The last thing I want to do is hurt Ally. I need to figure out who I am and what I'm going to do before I dare cross that line.

Jumping out of bed, I grab some gym shorts out of a drawer. "Let me just use the bathroom and take care of this," I point down with a smirk, "And then I'll walk you home."

No idea what her intentions were before my little announcement, she sits up and brings the sheet with her. "Yes, it's getting late and I have a lot to do tomorrow. I should get back. You don't have to walk me, though— it's right next door."

Feeling like the biggest dick for basically kicking her out of my bed, I glance at her before closing the bathroom door. "I want to."

She smiles at me. "At least we're close neighbors, so it's not that far."

"And at least we won't be frenemies," I joke.

"Yeah, I guess I can borrow that sugar now," she laughs.

Half-heartedly laughing along with her, I close the door feeling like I just made a huge mistake.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

I am such a dick.

When I come out, she's gone and there's a note on my nightstand near the unused condom packages. It reads, "I had fun, Austin. See you around."

Yeah, see you around, Ally.


	9. Chapter 9

Ally

Seven long days later and I still haven't seen Austin.

Just because I spent the day after we slept together trying to figure out whether he drove the Jeep or rode the motorcycle— both were parked in the driveway of the house to my right— doesn't mean I haven't been busy.

My days have been very, very busy. Unpacking. Scouting out the area. Talking to Gavin and his record label. Writing new songs. And looking for a car.

Busy.

Busy.

Busy.

And yes, this counts as a plan, but I can't help myself. Trish knows this too, which is why she's not judging.

I am who I am. Soon, maybe, I'll be a little less uptight, but I'll always be me.

Gavin did ask me out, and first I was going to say yes, but I couldn't. I knew I wasn't into him in that way. When I said no, he was cool with everything. Obviously he was about as into me as I was into him. Which was nothing past considering a possible friendship, but more than likely only the business relationship we were building.

You know what they say, anyway— don't mix business with pleasure. I think that's good advice to follow.

Still, even without dates, like I said, I've been busy.

Busy.

Busy.

Busy.

* * *

So it's not like I have been running out to my balcony to see if Austin's Jeep, which I figured out to be his vehicle only when Trish finally told me, is the one coming and going whenever I hear the sound of crunching gravel.

And it's definitely not as if I care that he quickly brought our night to an end. I have a life to start living. A list to check off. I'm very busy.

Busy.

Busy.

Busy.

Too busy to care what made him turn from hot to cold faster than the speed of light. Mr. We Are Going to Need Multiple Packs of Condoms needed only one, and I know it wasn't because he didn't enjoy himself. No one could fake the noises of pleasure he was making.

Whatever.

So what if it was the best sex I ever had.

I'm single.

In a beach town.

With a lot of half-dressed men.

Hot sex will happen again.

Right?

* * *

"You're not happy." Trish makes this observation over turkey sandwiches at The Cliff. It's her lunch hour and she asked me to meet her here.

"Why would you say that?"

She points to my food. "You're not eating."

That would be because the food tastes disgusting.

But I don't tell Trish that.

I pat my stomach. "Just watching what I eat. I have to wear that bikini. You know, item number one on the list."

She laughs. "You have to buy one first."

Nibbling on the gluten-free bread that tastes like nothing, I set it down. From afar it looked really good. "For your information, I'm doing that after lunch. And then I'm going to look at cars."

Trish is working on the Main Beach today, which is a ten-minute walk at most from our house, so I have her car to run errands. While I'm out, I'm grabbing a hot fudge, filled with dairy, sundae. Again, I don't tell Trish that. Pinkberry is where she'd direct me. Dairy free, made from coconut milk, vegan yogurt. Looks good. Tastes terrible. "It's to die for" are her words, not mine. Yet they might not be that far from the truth. I might die if I have to eat another one. Sure, I believe in balance. Eat healthy. Exercise. And a small cheat here and there. That is not Trish's philosophy. In fact, everything in Miami is so extreme.

Gulping her wheatgrass shot in one swallow, she sets the glass down. "Austin asked about you this morning."

Outwardly, I shrug, but inside my belly flutters. "And?" I ask nonchalantly.

"And nothing. That was all. Just wanted to know how you were doing." She wipes her mouth with her napkin.

"Oh, okay."

She stares at me for a long while. "Are you sure you're not upset about what happened with him?"

I poke my fork around my side dish of kale salad. Chips would have been so much better. "No, I'm not. I shouldn't be, right?"

She shrugs. "Did he make any promises?"

Choking down a bite of the bitterness, I set my fork on the table. "No, he didn't."

Trish puckers her lips. "Then you probably shouldn't be upset."

I sigh. "But he didn't even ask me for my number."

She laughs. "He lives right next door."

"Yeah, but still, it would have been nice for him to have asked me for my phone number after I spread my legs for him, even if he never intended to use it."

Trish laughs again. "Oh, you shouldn't get hung up on that— it happens to me all the time."

I narrow my eyes at her. "That's a lie. You're the one who never calls guys back."

"Well, you know me— it's all about having fun."

"Yeah, when I think about it, we did have a lot of fun."

"And besides, there's a bright side."

"And that would be?"

"He helped you check number two off the list— have sex with a stranger."

"That's true, but to be honest, forgetting about that night is harder than I thought it would be."

Trish frowns and pushes her plate aside. "Do you want me to talk to him? Find out where his head is at?"

My stomach flips at the thought, and it hasn't been doing well this past week. "No, Trish, that will only make matters worse. We're neighbors. I want us to be cordial, not awkward. Everything will be forgotten soon enough. One-night stands always are."

Her long curly hair blows in the wind from the open window beside us, and she ties it with the elastic around her wrist. "You're certain?"

I nod and look out at the water down below. "Most positively."

"Okay then," she tells me, reaching under the table into her bag. "Two things. First, this is for you." She plops a black bag with the name Adam & Eve scrolled across it and an outline of half an apple around the last e.

My suspicion radar goes up immediately. "What is this?"

She dips her finger in the last of the tofu-something sauce on her plate and then sucks it off. "A gift."

Eyeing her skeptically, I peek over the bag but can't see anything beyond the red paper. Slowly, I poke around inside as if a giant anaconda might announce its presence at any second. When I've shifted enough tissue, I pull the item out slightly. The small box reads LELO Mia 2 Rechargeable Clitoral Vibrator. My jaw drops and I shove it back inside.

Trish sits in her chair and crosses her very tanned, short legs. "Number seven on the list," she says with a grin. "It's small and portable. And you can use the USB on your laptop to charge it."

Shoving the bag in my purse near my feet, I sit up and slurp the last of my berry smoothie. "Why, thank you, Trish, you shouldn't have," I say through gritted teeth.

Big, brown eyes sparkle in the sunlight with an innocence that would make any best friend want to claw them out. Okay, that wasn't nice.

The waiter takes our money for the check and I know lunch is coming to an end.

Almost afraid to ask, I do so only to get it out of the way. "Do I want to know what the other thing is?"

Trish checks the time on her phone and stands up. "We're going to the Underground tomorrow night. It's a dance club, so while you're out shopping maybe you should pick something up to wear."

Taking a deep breath, I blow it out. "Trish, I don't want to go out with Gavin. I already told you that. He's a nice guy; I'm just not into him."

All five feet, ten inches of her looms over me in her red shorts and white tank top. "Ally, I think I got that when you left him sitting at my table to go fuck Austin. Trent, you, and I will be meeting up with a bunch of people from the patrol."

"The patrol?" I question, knowing that means the people she works with.

"We go all the time and you don't have to worry, Austin never comes with us. Dance clubs aren't his thing."

"I guess karaoke is," I laugh.

She takes a step back. "Yeah, about that: next time you two talk, you should ask him why he ended up there."

I stand up and make sure the Adam & Eve bag is buried deep in my purse. "If you know, why don't you tell me?"

"I can't. I'm sorry. Besides, I have to run. See you home later."

And just like that, the Miami girl is gone.

And the New Yorker is left to spread her wings.

As I head toward the car, I eye the bag in my purse. Maybe I should say I'm left to get myself off.

Just my vibrator and me.

* * *

Austin

Behind my polarized frames I watch every splash, every screech, every ripple. From high in my tower I spend my day deciding if that person over there has been under too long, if that one across the way is doing the back float or is really in trouble, or if the one way out there is actually struggling or just learning to swim.

The decisions I make are crucial to saving people's lives, yet every day that has passed this week, this job has been feeling more and more just like that— a job.

That yearning I felt for a career before everything happened is starting to come back a little more every day. And for the first time, I find my anger toward my brother lessening. Not saying that's a good thing, though, because I'm not sure where that leaves us.

When I finally get home from a long day, I go straight to my room, hop in the shower, change, and walk out into the kitchen to grab some food.

Shocked before I even make it to the refrigerator, I almost barrel over in laughter when I see Dez at the sink. His notebook is tossed on the counter and instead of writing like he usually is, he's washing dishes, by hand. "Hey, bro, dishwasher broken?"

Blowing a handful of suds out of his face, he turns toward me. "No, I'm doing this for my health. What do you think?"

Laughter continues to roll out of me.

Setting the last of the dishes on the counter, he pulls the drain, and then flips me the bird. "By the way, I saw Ally over at the surf shop today when I stopped in to get some wax for my board. You shouldn't let her slip away."

Pushing up from the counter, I skip the food idea and open the door. "She was never mine to let slip away, bro. Have a great night."

"Moody fucker," Dez calls after me.

I, in turn, throw him the finger.

Just as I plop myself down on the lounge chair, my phone rings. I take a quick glance at the screen.

It's my mom.

She's called three times this week, and I have yet to return her call. Last week in New York was tough, and I just don't want to talk about it. Still, I should pick up this time.

"Hello," I answer.

The crackle of static and silence greets me. Then, "Austin?"

I stare out at the beach and try to absorb some of its calm. "Hey, Mom, sorry I haven't called you yet. I worked a crap-ton of hours this week."

"I know why you haven't called me, and it has nothing to do with work. I just wanted to hear your voice. How are you doing?"

Running a hand through my hair, I want to pull it. "After that family fiasco last Thursday, I honestly don't know."

"Austin, honey, I think it's time you let your anger go. It's not good for you to carry all that resentment around."

My eyes shut and I squeeze them closed tightly. "I try every day, Mom. I really do."

She sighs. "Tell me what's new there."

"I'm still a lifeguard, if that's what you are asking."

The hiss of static makes me think we've lost connection, but then she's back on the line. "You know I don't care what you do as long as you're happy."

"That's just it, I'm not happy. There's hundreds of businesses here that I look at and think, I can fix them, make them better."

"Then do it, Austin."

"You know I can't. That takes capital, and I don't have any."

"Yes, you do. Stop being stubborn. Your grandparents left you that money. The trust fund is yours to do with what you want. It has nothing to do with your father."

"I'm not ready to go down that road."

"Then you're not ready. It's okay."

I look over toward the house next door. "I met a girl on the plane ride to Miami who turned out to be Trish's best friend. She moved here from New York."

"Really? Small world. What's she like?"

"She's really cool. She's a songwriter and her music is actually amazing."

"She sounds fascinating."

Fascinating. That's a good word to describe her. Especially since I still feel amazing after being inside her. Okay, I need to can the sex thoughts when I'm talking to my mother. I try to blink them away and then quickly change the subject. "Yeah, anyway, other than that, nothing new."

"Well, I have some news."

"Oh yeah, what?"

"Josh and I are getting married the weekend after Labor Day. I know it's quick, but we both want this. I'd like you to come back for the ceremony. It will be small. Just his family and mine. I hope Cassidy will come."

Drawing in a breath, I let it out. "I'm happy for you, Mom."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. You deserve to be happy."

"And so do you, Austin," she says.

Yeah, the problem is it's been so long, I don't know what that means anymore. Then I think of Ally and the fun we had. She made me happy.

The rest of the conversation is spent talking about the wedding plans and Josh. Josh is a cool guy and I'm glad she found someone who makes her happy. She deserves it.

Once I get off the phone with my mother, I stare out at the ocean for the longest time before deciding to see what Ally is up to tonight.

* * *

The sun is about an hour away from setting by the time I peek over Trish's fence. No one is outside, but I know they're home. I spotted Trish's car in the driveway. Well, spotted is a loose term, since I looked.

That dick move I made with Ally has been eating at me all week. After going at her guns blazing and then ceasing fire faster than a gun draw at the O.K. Corral, I probably owe her an explanation. I'll just lay it all out there, tell her I know she's a nice girl and didn't deserve that. That I'm in a bad place right now. In this case, the whole "it's me, not you" thing is the complete truth.

There's one bit of happy already bleeding through the bleakness that is my life— it's the weekend and for the first time in months, I'm off until Monday morning. Therefore, talking to Ally should be easy. Tons of time. I can ask her out to eat. Take her to a movie. Something, anything, to atone for my shitty treatment of her.

If I'm being honest, I thought we might run into each other sometime during the week, either outside or in one of our driveways, or perhaps on the beach, but we never did. I even tried to get some info from Trish, but her lips were sealed tight.

Looks like going next door is the best way to talk to Ally, and I am going equipped with things that should make her smile— her book and iPod. She left them both on the plane and even though I tried to catch her to give them to her, I couldn't. She really is fast.

Beer in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other, my backpack with her things on my shoulder, I take the pathway around to the patio and knock on the kitchen door.

It swings open and Trish stands there, still dressed in her lifeguarding clothes. "Just get home?" I ask.

She steps aside to let me in. "About an hour ago, but I decided to crash and watch some television before motivating. I have to be at work early in the morning, and I'm already exhausted."

Peering through the galley kitchen into the family room, I see no sign of Ally. "What are you watching?"

She grabs a beer from the six-pack and heads toward the couch. "Just turned on The Walking Dead. Come watch with me."

Trish, Dez and I have watched every episode together— twice. Another round couldn't hurt.

Putting the wine in the refrigerator and dropping my backpack on the counter, I grab a beer for myself and follow her. "Sure, why not."

Flopping on the couch, she looks over at me. "Feel like ordering a pizza? I'm starving."

Dinner. That is perfect. That should get Ally out here. "Yeah, sure," I tell her and make the call.

About thirty minutes later, the pizza arrives, half veggie, no cheese for Trish, the other half pepperoni, sausage, and double cheese for me. "Trent not around tonight?" I ask, grabbing a piece from the box and taking a bite.

Trish puts a slice on her plate. "He's coming over later."

Still she says nothing about Ally, nor does she ask her if she wants to come eat with us. Just as I'm about to suggest she call her down, the kitchen door swings open.

 _Holy fucking shit._

Straight down my center of vision stands Ally in a bright green bikini, looking hotter than fuck. Looking more sunburned than tan, she plops a bag of shells on the floor and looks right at me, catching me licking my lips.

"Hey," I call out, trying to keep my voice normal but feeling like my rising cock took all the high notes and left me with nothing but a squeak. Oh, for fuck's sake, I'm not fifteen.

"Hi." She smiles, and her nipples instantly pop through the fabric of her top.

There goes my cock, even higher. I should have gone with denim instead of gym shorts.

"Hey there, Dawson." Trish sets her plate down and wipes her hands. Then with a raised brow and a flirty tone, she asks, "How was your walk?" There's some kind of hidden code in the way she speaks the words. What, I have no idea.

"Great, really great," Ally answers and stops to wash her hands at the sink.

With her standing like that, I get the full profile. It's enough to suck the air from my lungs and make me shift in my seat. That body. She's really short, not Trish short, but short. And fit. Really fit. And that hair. Her brown hair is long and wavy with chestnut highlights at the end. Carefree. She's not plumped, or primped, or primed like most of the girls I know in New York. Nothing fake about her. Everything about her is just so natural. Flawless is the word, I think.

Once she's wiped her hands on the towel, she grabs a glass and gets some water from the dispenser. Drinking it, she walks toward Trish and me and stops to lean against the entranceway into the family room. "What are you two doing?"

This close, all I can see is that smooth skin I had my hands all over a mere week ago. With my eyes glued to her, I'm the first to speak. "We're just catching some old episodes of The Walking Dead and eating pizza. There's wine in the fridge. Want to join us?"

Trish is quietly volleying her gaze between Ally and me with keen attention.

The room is set up with the couch facing the television and a chair on either side of it. Passing by me, Ally casually sits in the chair opposite me, which happens to be at the greatest distance from me as well. "Thanks, but I can't. I'm meeting Eric Sullivan for dinner, and besides, that is not my kind of television."

That mixture of red and green haze blurs my vision. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before last week. I'd better think about seeing an eye doctor.

Clapping her hands together, Trish practically jumps out of her seat. She's this excited that Ally has a date? I really need to get her on my side here. Wait, I don't have a side. "He called you back?" she asks.

Ally looking equally excited makes my body go cold. "Yes, can you believe it?"

Relief washes through me as I recall who he is. "Eric Sullivan, the owner of Sullivan Records?" I ask. By the way, he's older, married, with grandkids I think. Phew, nothing to worry about.

"Yes, that's him, and he's looking for someone to manage the record label full time. He thinks I might be just the right fit," Ally answers, finishing the last of her water.

Trish picks her plate up and sits Indian style on the brown leather couch. "Managing? I thought you were trying to sell him your songs and work with the artists."

Ally nods and sets her glass down. "I was, but he's not interested in that."

There's a concerned look in Trish's eyes, as there should be. "You want to work for yourself, be hands-on, remember? Managing someone else's business isn't going to help you meet your goal."

Before adding my two cents, I wait for Ally to respond. No sense putting the cart before the horse if I don't need to.

Leaning forward, Ally pinches a piece of pepperoni that has fallen to the side of the pie. "No, it won't, but Eric isn't looking for a songwriter right now. He does, however, have a job that will help me learn how to get what I want someday."

After a few tiny bites of her vegetables, Trish makes a face at Ally. "Not to sound like Debbie Downer here, but what's the rush to get a job? I thought you were going to take the summer off and kick back."

I assume by Trish's comment that she's not charging Ally anything to live here.

When Ally eats the piece of pepperoni in her hand, I have this urge to lick the grease from her fingers. Shit, I have to shift around in my seat again. She swallows and looks at Trish. "I don't know, I just feel like this is an opportunity I shouldn't turn down. You never know where it could lead."

"Not so sure about that," I finally pipe up. "If you're looking to learn the ins and outs of the artistry market, Eric isn't your guy."

"How do you know that?" Ally asks.

"He's third generation and looking to get out. I know he's talked to a few potential buyers since I moved here. He's a nice guy, but if he's looking to hire a full-time manager, that tells me he won't be around much. He has a place in the Bahamas and already spends a lot of time down there."

A piece of broccoli falls to Trish's plate and she picks it up and eats it. That's just nasty. "Austin knows everything about business in town. He's like the walking, talking Chamber of Commerce," she tells Ally.

Walking, talking sex God has a better ring.

"Thanks for letting me know, Austin. It's good information to have when I talk to him tonight." Ally smiles and that smile does something to me.

God, I want this girl.

"Anytime." I grin and think I should have said something along those lines last week when I kicked her out of my bed instead of the "see you around" vibe I gave her.

"He knows a lot about managing a business, too, Ally," Trish offers up. I can't figure her out.

Ally watches Trish plucking the veggies off her pizza one by the one with the same look I'm giving her. "That's great," she says to me. "I might have some questions for you as soon as I figure out if going out on my own is the career path for me."

I raise a brow. "I could be like your teacher."

"Teacher?" Trish laughs, choking on a pepper.

"Yes, teacher. I rather like the sound of that."

Instantly, Ally's cheeks turn pink.

Trish rolls her eyes and stands up. "Blah, blah, blah. Enough of this boring conversation. You two are way too grown up for me." She looks at me and raises the hand with her empty. "Another?"

I relax in my chair, relieved this situation isn't uncomfortable and feeling like Ally and I might be able to move forward. Maybe with the whole no-strings-attached kind of thing. "Sure, I'll take another."

Alone in the room together, I'm about to ask Ally if she wants to go out to eat tomorrow night when she stands up. "I need to take a shower and get ready, but it was good to see you, Austin."

And just like that she's gone. Blowing me off like, well, like the asshole I was, I guess.

Something inside me doesn't feel right, but at the same time I know it's my own fucking doing.

* * *

Pizza finished, beer gone, and the Walking Dead episode just ending, I'm slouched in the oversized chair when I hear the creak of the stairs from the small hallway behind the couch.

Trish, who is now lying on her back on the couch, rises to look over it. "Oh, my God, you look fantastic. I'd hire you."

The earth seems to be shifting a little beneath my feet and I wonder if they are even still on the floor.

Ally is a knockout. She's dressed in a tight black skirt and a top that shows her curvy body. The room is still shifting beneath my feet. I'm beginning to wonder if we're not experiencing an earthquake here. I'm having trouble staying upright.

"Austin, doesn't she look great?" Trish prompts, and I can tell she's up to something. Either she wants me to feel like I might have ruined the best thing that could have happened to me or she wants me to go after the best thing that could happen to me. The jury is still out on which.

Either way, the smoldering look I cut Ally can't be helped. "Yeah, you look great."

"Thanks, you two, wish me luck," she says and opens the door to the driveway. And again, just like that, she's gone.

You two?

Now, I'm a part of a _you two_?

"Pinkberry or another episode?" Trish asks.

"I'll pass on the Pinkberry shit, but we can watch another episode if you want," I mumble, intending to wait around for Ally's return anyway, so I can ask her out.

"Hmmm." Trish points the remote at the television. "You're in a mood tonight."

Perceptive girl.

* * *

Well into our third episode, Trish has turned over and is fast asleep on the couch. It's after ten and Ally still hasn't returned. Opting to leave her a note, I grab paper and pen from the kitchen and head up the stairs to go into her room. I've been in here a million times helping Trish lug shit. That was before it was Ally's room, though.

I look around.

Everything is so neat and organized.

But I already knew by her personality it would be. What surprises the ever-loving shit out of me, though, is the vibrator plugged into her laptop.

The image of watching her getting herself off with that little thing is hard to push aside. That sweet pussy is all I can think about now. Five fucking minutes is how long it takes for me to move toward her desk.

Just as I set my paper down so I can write my note, I hear a car engine in the driveway.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

Wish I'd gotten her phone number and texted her now.

Hauling ass down the stairs, I have no choice but to sit in the chair and pretend to be sleeping. If I don't, when she walks in, all I'm going to do is smirk at her. The door opens, and I hear footsteps.

Needing to rouse myself before she escapes up the stairs, I'm just about to pretend to open my eyes groggily when I hear wet smacking sounds, like kissing.

My eyes fly open at that.

Trent is leaning down over Trish. "Hey, babe, sorry I'm so late."

She sits up and rubs her eyes. "No, it's fine," she tells him and wraps her arms around his neck.

Grabbing onto her ass, he lifts her up. "How about I take you to bed?"

My cue to get the fuck out of here. I clear my throat.

Trent swings around with Trish in his arms. "Sorry, thought you were sleeping, dude."

Bolting to my feet, I nod in his direction. "Don't worry about it, man— it's late and I should be going. Thanks for the company, Trish. See you around, Trent."

"Okay, Austin. See you tomorrow," Trish tells me and then ducks her head to find Trent's lips.

Grabbing my backpack, I hightail it out of there and over to my house. I spend the rest of the night in my room waiting to hear the sound of another car engine in the driveway of the house next door.

It's after midnight before that sound comes.

Deciding stalker doesn't fit my personality, I opt not to run outside.

No.

No.

No.

I have something so much better in mind to get her attention back on me.

Tomorrow can't come soon enough.


	10. Chapter 10

so i decided to update twice this week. thank you for your wonderful reviews!

* * *

Ally

Austin's mouth, that's what I want on my clit instead of this vibrator.

More than his mouth. I want his hands and fingers. His teeth and tongue. I want to feel the crush of his weight on top of me. See the whisper of his eyelashes as he closes his eyes to kiss me. Hear the sounds he makes when he comes.

I want a lot.

But you can't always get what you want. Wait, isn't that what the Stones sang? I think so. Now, I'm singing it too. Another song to add to my karaoke list should I ever endeavor to try that again.

At least I can say that I have checked numbers one, two, four, seven, nine, and ten off my list. Oh, and Trish agreed to let number eight slide.

1\. Wear a bikini ✓

2\. Have sex with someone you don't know ✓

3\. Fuck on the beach

4\. Join the Mile High Club ✓

5\. Get drunk and let someone else worry how you're going to get home

6\. Give a guy the best blow job of his life and make sure he knows it

7\. Get a vibrator ✓

8\. Don't plan your day for the next thirty days

9\. Take a nude selfie ✓

10\. Read an erotic romance novel in public ✓

I'm counting the almosts.

Why not?

There are no rules about it, after all.

As for number nine, I took a nude selfie this morning. It's on my iPhone. Not that I will ever be sharing it with anyone. That is a big, fat never.

List. Oh, list. I'm more than halfway there. And I already feel so much less uptight. It really is working.

My vibrator is working, too. Every single one of my nerve endings is on fire. I'm so close. Almost there. Almost. A little more. Just a little more. I push up the hem of my sundress. Adjust my stance. I already tried this naked on my bed. The outcome was dismal. I tried it in the shower, again to no avail. Now I've taken my panties off, I've got one leg up on my desk, and I'm going to town with this damn thing.

Okay, I must be doing something wrong because it's now ten in the morning and still no orgasm.

Trying really hard to get in the zone, I almost topple over when "Like a Virgin" blares through my open window.

Turning the damn contraption off, I fly over to the window.

Oh, my God!

Austin is lying out in a lounge chair in his yard. Shirtless. Reading a book. Wait one minute. I open the screen to the window and lean out. Farther. A little farther still. Any more and I'll be a pile of flesh on the rooftop of Trish's outdoor patio. Without cause, the small hot-pink device in my hand slips out, and down, down, down it goes, landing right in our backyard.

You have to be kidding me!

Not worried about that thing at the moment, I grab my phone and press camera. Needing to be certain, I zoom in and snap a picture. Backing away from the window before I lose anything else, I look at the photo.

Oh, my God is right.

Austin is reading Summer's Ménage.

That bastard has my book and iPod from the plane.

What is he up to?

After washing my hands, I don't waste another minute before I stomp over there to find out. Yes, I make a short pit stop and tuck the vibrator under the cushions of one of the lounge chairs. Never know if I might need it again.

"Partition" is playing when I cross the threshold from the beach to the small square of grass in Austin's backyard.

I feel a flush of heat at the sight of his bare chest.

Not the time for gawking.

With my hands on my hips, I clear my throat. "What are you doing?"

Shading his eyes, he peers up at me. "Oh, hey, Ally, I thought I'd read a little before it gets too hot."

Damn that quirk of his lips. It causes that swarm of butterflies in my belly to take flight every time. Needing to ignore my body's reaction to Austin Moon, I narrow my gaze. "That is my book." And then I circle my hand in the air as if the tunes could be seen. "And that music is from my playlist."

Closing the book and setting it down, Austin sits up. Sitting like that, there is no ignoring that six-pack or his muscular thighs. "Yeah, you left them both on the plane. I brought them over yesterday to give them to you, but you were rather rushed. Since you were so busy and all, I thought I'd bring them by another day and then this morning, well, the mood struck me to read."

Playing it sweet or I might just slap him, I smile and say, "You could have just left them on the counter for me."

There's a water bottle beside him, my iPod, and a Bluetooth speaker he is using to broadcast my Songs About Me playlist. He picks up the water and screws off the cap. "You know, I could have, but I didn't think of it. Interesting song, by the way. What is it about it that made you want to add it to your list?"

Sure, I could snatch my things and go, but he is toying with me, playing a game, and I decide to play right back. "I've always wanted to get fucked hard and fast before going to a professional event."

Choking on his water, he practically spits it out. "Come again?"

"I said," I shout, "I've always wanted to get—"

"Got it," Austin interrupts, and then he picks up the iPod and changes the song. "I think this one is one of my favorites," he tells me, and "Black Coffee in Bed" now blares in his backyard.

Now completely bemused, I tsk, "Oh, right, that one. After Elliot and I broke up, I went out with one of his friends."

Austin harrumphs like he's jealous. He can't be jealous. "I thought you said you hadn't had sex since you broke up with that asshole boyfriend of yours?"

I can do this all day long. "Oh, I didn't. That doesn't mean I didn't think about it, though. This playlist is more like a fantasy list about me, I suppose."

Another change of song. This one lands on "Dance For You." He makes absolutely no comment as he clicks to the next.

More than amused, I decide to take a seat. It's not until I'm sitting down in the lounge chair beside him that I remember I'm not wearing panties. Oh, shit. Small detail that hopefully he won't notice.

When "S&M" starts to play, I should be embarrassed at the sexuality in my song choices, but I'm way past that. And besides, at this point, all humor has disappeared from Austin's demeanor, and it looks like he's struggling to keep it together.

Good.

Before moving on to the next song, he turns it off and looks over at me. "Well, your taste in music is interesting, I can tell you that. Me, I'm more of a Doors, Kinks, Grateful Dead, Radiohead kind of guy."

Grabbing my iPod, I scroll out of that playlist and find another. "I like those bands too."

He moves to peer over my shoulder as I hit play on "Rockaway Beach."

"The Ramones, now there's a band for you."

Feeling a little full of myself, I throw him a saucy look. "What can I say? I have it all."

Smirking at me, he mumbles something under his breath that I don't catch.

We smile at each other for a moment, me almost forgetting how badly he blew me off after he fucked me, and him, I don't know what he is thinking.

"I should get going," I tell him.

He opens the book that's still on his lap. "Why don't you stay for a few minutes and find out what Summer and company are up to?"

Considering he just shortened my current to-do list by two items since I no longer need to go to the bookstore or get a new iPod, I figure why not. "Sure, but when I leave here, that book is coming with me."

"Only if you promise that you'll only read it when I'm around."

"What is this, a book club?" I laugh.

"It can be whatever you want it to be," he answers in a much more serious tone than my own.

Still laughing, I look over at him. When I do, I see a guy a little lost in life, not the asshole I thought him to be after we had sex. Feeling that kindred spirit thing again, I let my animosity go. So what, we fucked? Who knows, maybe we'll do it again. Maybe we won't. Either way, my seatmate turned neighbor turned lover now wants to be my teacher and my book club partner. As long as I keep my head on straight and remember that's all this is— fun— what do I have to lose?

Turning the music down, I sit on the lounge and pull my feet up, stretching them out and getting comfortable. "Sure, I'll stay. Go ahead and read."

Ooey, gooey caramel drips from his mouth. Not really, but I swear it might, his voice is that low, deep, and thick. "'It was the perfect time for fun and games. As usual, Gabe found himself on his knees. Summer rather liked him that way. Submissive and in trouble, the two most perfect ingredients to get them all off.'"

Holy hotness. I can feel myself growing wet and worry it might show through my dress.

Austin's voice doesn't waver as he continues. "'Gabe looked up at her as she wrapped the end of the silken rope first around one wrist, then the other. He smiled when she tugged it up and around his neck. And he looked down when she looped it around his already hard cock.'"

This book is beyond erotic. My girl parts are just as hot and bothered as I am. I find myself squirming.

Austin looks over at me and laughs a little. It sounds like syrup, smooth and sweet. "You okay?" he asks.

Squeezing my thighs together, I smile at him. "Super great."

Almost nonchalantly, the hand not holding the book lowers and his fingertips tickle the bare skin of my thigh.

I draw in a breath.

He does the same and then continues. "'She slipped her finger in his mouth. He bit playfully. Summer immediately stood and took him hard by the chin to make him go still. She pulled his face toward Owen, making him watch what she was about to do. Owen was standing still in front of the bed as instructed. And as further punishment for Gabe, she ran her wet finger down Owen's chest and circled the head of his erection, which was tapping his belly."

Austin stops there.

My eyes are on his bare torso, that tattoo he had yet to tell me about, and I had yet to ask about, and the way it moved up and down faster and faster with each word.

This is dangerous. Reading something like this together.

Hormones are everywhere, whirling and swirling around us, pushing those sexual thoughts way past friendly. At this point, we may be outside, but it seems all the air is gone.

"Shit," Austin says, "this is getting intense. I don't think I could be in either of those guys' shoes."

Needing water, I pick up his bottle, using this opportunity to shift a little so his fingers are no longer touching me. "Mind?"

He shakes his head.

After taking a sip, I ask, "If you had to be one, though, whose shoes would you wear?"

Pondering it for a moment, he says, "I'll tell you after a few more pages."

"Why a few more pages?"

"Whichever guy gets laid first, that's who she likes better. And that's who I'd be."

I laugh. "Okay, I follow your logic. I think its Owen."

"And I think its Gabe."

I scoot my chair closer so I can read along silently with him. "It's the whole bad-boy-versus-good-boy thing here. You know that, right?"

The smirk that crosses his lips is almost too much for me to see.

"Get reading so we can find out," I tell him, trying to pull myself together.

He chuckles the sexiest sound and it's so close to my ear that I can't help but shiver. "By the way," he says, "tying anything around a guy's dick, that is a big no."

"He broke the rules."

"I don't know if what he did was severe enough to invoke bondage. My balls hurt just thinking about that scene."

Laughing, I nudge him in the side. "Come on, you have to see he wanted it; that's why he did it."

Austin shivers, even though the sun is warm and bright. "Agree to disagree," he says. "I am almost afraid to see what he does next."

Trying my hardest not to cozy up to him, I still find myself closer than I know I should be.

"'Summer slowly strode over to the dresser in her garter belt and bra and after opening a drawer, she turned around. She had a present for Owen for his good behavior. One she'd never gifted a man before, but she wanted Owen to feel pleasure like he never had.'"

"See," I shout, "she likes him more!"

"We don't know that for sure. Maybe she only wants to keep him busy so she can fuck Gabe."

"Just keep reading." I sigh, feeling way too angsty over what is to come.

"'With a glass plug...'" Austin chokes a little and readjusts his body on the lounge.

"You okay? Want me to read?" I offer with a smirk.

"No, I'm good," he says.

Needing to find out, I ask, "Is she really going to do what I think she's going to do?"

"Yeah, there's a chance she might be going for the male G-spot, but who knows, maybe not."

I raise a brow. "Prostate stimulation is supposed to feel really good, so I've heard." Keeping a straight face is difficult, and a bit of laughter escapes my throat.

Shooting me the evil eye, he starts reading again. "'With a glass plug in one hand and a bottle of lube in the other, Summer ordered Owen to lie on the bed.'"

Now, my laughter can't be contained. Yep, Summer is going for prostate gland stimulation.

Suddenly, Austin pauses.

I look over at him.

"Oh Jesus Christ, if this is going where I think it's going, that would be another big fat no. My ass is seizing up just thinking about what she's about to do."

"Come on, Austin, live a little— no harm in experimenting," I say with an elbow nudge.

"Okay, good girl, I will have to remember to remind you of your words next time we get together and I break out the lube and glass dildo."

My girl parts should be seizing up, too. They aren't. Just the fact that he thinks there will be a next time makes me a little excited. And I wonder if he really does have a glass dildo... "Shut up and read, Austin."

"I got you thinking," he says, and goes on. "'She bent to lick the pre-cum off his erection. Once, twice, three times. Restraint didn't come easy for Gabe, but he wanted her mouth around him more than he cared about anything else.'"

Right now the tingling between my thighs is so severe, I know if I had that vibrator, it would only need to be turned on for a second and I'd come.

Austin stops and wipes the sweat from his brow.

I can't help but look up at him and stare at the sexy stubble so close to my mouth that I'd love to lick my tongue over it.

As if hearing my dirty thoughts, he scrubs at his jaw before he continues. "'Untying Gabe, she tugged on his nipple ring and led him to the bed. After the day they'd had, she was hot for them both tonight."

That makes Austin stop reading.

He's breathing heavily.

So am I.

My eyes drop to his mouth.

Arousal shoots through me, and I glance away quickly, afraid he'll catch sight of my desire. When I feel a little more composed, I turn back and find his eyes trained on my lips.

Noticing he's been caught, he switches his stare back to the book.

My mouth parts at the thought of his lips touching mine. At the many kisses we shared and how good they were. And at the memory of the things we did to each other's bodies.

Austin's gaze rises to return to mine. "Okay, time for a break. What do you say we hit the water? Preferably really cold water."

Unable to be close to him for another minute, I hurry to my feet, so full of lust that I worry I might leap on top of him at any moment. My voice is hoarse and weak when I grab my iPod and tell him no, that I can't. That I have to go.

"Wait," he calls, lifting the book.

"Keep it," I tell him. "We'll finish another time."

"Ally," he calls, chasing after me.

I stop just before my feet hit the sand.

"Go out with me tonight."

Every bone in my body wants to say yes. "I can't. I have plans with Trish and some of her friends to go to the Underground. You could come?" I suggest.

He shakes his head. "I hate clubs. I try to avoid them whenever I can. It's bad enough when I'm in New York with Dez and he drags me out. But how about tomorrow night?"

I lower my gaze, kicking myself for suggesting he come tonight only to have him blow me off. Deciding that keeping things between us the way they are is probably best. "I'm not sure what my plans are yet."

He bends sideways until he meets my gaze with his.

I laugh out loud. "What are you doing?"

"Making you look at me."

To straighten him up, I physically place my hands on his sides to move him. As soon as my palms touch his bare skin, electricity courses through my body. This is too much. The temptation is so bad. Quickly, I move him to an upright position and drop my hold.

"Okay, I am. Now what?" I ask him.

He tips my chin to look at him and I think of the way Summer tilted Gabe's head. His touch is much gentler, though. Just the same, the touch is sizzling and too much to bear. "I want to take you out. I want a chance to explain myself to you. I owe you that much," he tells me, sounding one hundred percent sincere.

Sincerity isn't what I need. I shake my head. "You don't owe me anything."

"That's not true."

"Austin, you don't."

"Ally, I do."

"Austin, stop it. Let's let it go and be friends."

He steps closer to me. "I don't think I can do that."

With a low laugh, I step back. "It's not just up to you," I tell him and walk away.

Hope that wasn't too bitchy. I really am working on it.

"Ally, just talk to me."

I can't do that. I already had one week of wondering what the hell happened. I really shouldn't put myself through another. Not right now. Not when I'm trying to get my life together. He's obviously full of regrets and confusion. Neither is something I need in my life right now. Yet, in a way, I wonder if it is.

"I'm not giving up," he calls.

I can't help but smirk to myself.

Really, I'm not trying to play hard-to-get.

Shaking my ass, I keep moving. I know just where I'm headed. To get that damned vibrator I tucked under the lounge cushion and hope to God this time it works for me.

I glance back.

Sure enough, his eyes are glued to my swaying behind.

If he wants me, he'll show up tonight.

And we'll take it from there.

Or we won't.


	11. Chapter 11

i'm extremely sorry for not updating last week! sometimes life catches up, haha. therefore i will update twice this week!

enjoy!

* * *

Austin

Clubs have never really been my thing.

For many reasons. First and foremost, they were my brother's thing.

So when I walk into the Underground, clean shaven and somewhat dressed up in my black jeans and green v-neck, I thank fuck it's not karaoke night.

A DJ is spinning tunes, or whatever it is they do. Dance music is blasting through the large open space. Like everything in Miami, this place has a cool, relaxed vibe. I rather dig the Miami lifestyle. It's a "make love, not war" type of place. Drink, talk, and fuck is the New York way to say it, though. Same thing, just not as politically correct, I suppose.

The large space is lit in lines of blue and green. There's a shit-ton of people in here. Most of them dancing. Some of them talking at high-top tables. Others flirting at the bar. No one is going home alone, that's for sure.

I push my way through the pulsating throng of people and toward the bar. "Corona with a lime," I mouth to the bartender and take a seat. He nods and melts away into the cries of the other thirsty customers. My eyes adjust to the darkness as I look around. Bright lights from the neon signs on the wall illuminate the faces in the crowd, but I don't see her anywhere. There is a floor above us where I can see feet moving and a floor directly below us where I can see the tops of people's bopping heads. Three dance floors is a lot of moving bodies.

Soon, the bartender returns with my beer. Once I've paid him, I push off the stool and go in search of Ally.

Sipping my beer, I take my time moving through the bar. Spotting no one from our patrol, I head down the stairs. No one I recognize down here, either. I start to wonder if they changed their plans.

That would fucking suck.

As soon as I hit the top floor, a crown of curly hair in the center of the dance floor attracts my attention. Plans were not changed. It's Trish dancing like a disco queen. Trent is bumping and grinding behind her and I have to look away. You see, Trish is like a sister to me, and watching her with a guy like that makes me cringe. Here's the thing: I like Trent; I just don't trust him. But hey, if she's cool with it, so am I.

As my gaze darts away from the pair, it lands right on Ally, who is doing a spin on the floor with Ethan, one of the guys from the patrol.

Holy fuck.

Holy fuck.

 _Holy fuck._

Could she get any hotter?

In a tight red dress, she's moving to the beat. All I can do is stare. I consider rubbing the drool off my chin when I see that her outfit is backless. Actually, there is not much to her dress at all. Spaghetti straps hold the fabric up, and those same straps jet all the way down to the curve of her spine. No way is she wearing a bra. Can't say why, but I love that about her. It's such a turn-on.

Equally as sexy is her long hair. It's down, and the waves move along with her. Once she stops spinning, she lifts her hair off her neck as if overheated and she needs to cool herself.

I'd love to help her with that. Thoughts of slipping those straps down and licking the sweat from her shoulders come to mind. What the fuck is wrong with me? She's got me all twisted up in a way I can't explain. And then it occurs to me that I have no idea what I'm doing here.

Stay or go.

Stay or go.

What the hell should I do?

"Never back down" has always been my motto, so why change it now?

Looking at her again, she's stopped spinning, but I haven't. Still struck stupid from the sight of her, it takes me a moment to compose myself. Once I do, I down the rest of my beer, place the empty on a table nearby, and step foot onto the dance floor.

Ethan now has his hands on her hips, and at least it's loud in here so no one can hear my growl.

As if sensing my presence, her head darts in my direction.

Although her face remains stoic, her body responds instantly to seeing me. Her hardening nipples that start sprouting through her tight dress aren't the only sign, either. The goose bumps on her arms also tell me what I already know— that she feels that same pull of attraction I do whenever we're together. There's no sense in either of us trying to deny it. It's there. Front and center. Sparks and all. Who would have ever thought I'd actually think cosmic reaction is reality?

"Hey," I say to Ally.

Her eyes wide, she snakes her tongue out to slide along her lips. "Austin." Her voice is a squeak.

For the sake of niceties, I turn to Ethan. "Hey man, mind if I cut in?"

I can honestly say I've never said those words before.

Ethan responds with a chipper, "No, not at all, but this is the last place I expected to see you. You never come out with us on dance club nights."

Making myself part of their twosome, I try not to think of it as a threesome. He needs to get lost, and soon. "Yeah, I know. I usually only go out when there's a pool table involved, but I couldn't help myself tonight."

I let my gaze wander to Ally and I drink in the sight of her so close, all the way from the top of her head to the tip of her high-heeled sandals.

Fucking hot.

Perhaps noticing the steaming heat between us, Ethan says nothing more and turns to dance with someone else from the patrol. It's like he'd be happy with whomever. Good for him.

Now it's just Ally and me on the dance floor. She keeps moving. I remain still. Staring. Admiring. Fucking yearning. Breathing hard. Heart pounding. Cock raring to go. Down boy. Down. I have some groveling to do first. Not sure it's even going to work.

"So," I yell over the music, "I forgot to ask you earlier, but did you take the job?"

She shakes her head. "It wasn't right for me. You were right. He wasn't going to be around. He only wanted a manager."

Still standing there, unmoving, I nod. "You'll find what you're looking for."

Who knows, maybe I will too.

Continuing to move, she leans closer. "Are you going to dance, or what?"

"I don't dance," I tell her, my eyes on those small nubs protruding from her dress. God, I want to suck on them so badly.

With a shrug, she says, "Suit yourself," and then turns around to dance with whoever is standing close by, just like Ethan did.

Wait one minute!

The song changes and even more people start wiggling, bouncing, moving to the beat.

She doesn't turn around, either.

She wins.

She fucking wins.

Unable to stop myself from making a move, I put my hands on her hips and push myself up against her back. She melts into my touch and allows me to shift our bodies so she is no longer part of any other group.

I'm not sure you can call what we are doing dancing. To me it feels more like fucking with our clothes on.

Pushing her hair to the side, I kiss her shoulder.

She twists, and with a gasp whispers, "I thought you didn't know how to dance?"

Licking up her neck, I find her ear. "I said I don't dance; it doesn't mean I don't know how."

"Oh." The small noise she makes in response causes heat to flare throughout my body.

Turning her to face me, in one step, I draw her close. Two steps, my hands go to her waist, and they feel like they were made to match her curves. Three steps, and I slide my thigh between hers.

Ally anchors herself with her hands on my shoulders and then looks up at me with those hazel eyes that again are unshuttered, but this time instead of running, I find myself getting lost in them.

The bass thumps on and on and we move together. When my hands slide down to her hips, hers rise and circle my neck.

It's been a long time since I gazed into someone's eyes and let her see me, and the enormity of this, of me opening myself for her to see, feels right. Feels like it's time to take a step out of the fiery pit of hell I've been in.

Dancing to a song I don't even know, I let the music's sensual beat guide me.

She feels so good in my arms.

I slide my hands up her bare back to tangle in her hair.

She tips her head, baring her throat to me, and the only thing I can do is bend down to slide my lips along her soft skin. Ally shivers under my touch and I draw her even closer.

Bodies all around us are pressing together too, but when my cock presses hard against her belly, all of this becomes too much. Finding her neck, I kiss it and whisper in her ear, "What do you say we go back to my place and dance?"

Pulling back, she stares at me for the longest time, and then smirks. "What? Horizontally, with no clothes on?"

With a wink, I say, "That hadn't crossed my mind, but if you insist."

"Liar." She smiles.

Grazing my hand across her ass, I kiss her neck again. "Well, I might have been lying a little, but seriously, I do really want to talk to you."

She runs her hands down my sides suggestively. "Aren't you of the school of thought that believes talking is overrated?"

"I subscribe to my own philosophy. There's a time to talk... and a time to fuck."

Stepping back, she keels over in laughter.

"What is so funny?" I ask.

Sucking in a breath to control herself, she says, "Are you trying to quote Kevin Bacon from Footloose? Because if you are, he says, 'There's a time to laugh... and a time to weep, a time to mourn... and there is a time to dance.'"

Laughing now too, I hook my arm around her. "That's right, 'Nobody puts Baby in a corner.'"

She slugs me with her arm. "Wrong movie. That's Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing."

"Don't dance, don't watch dance movies, remember?"

"You don't know what you're missing."

"You're right," I tell her and mean it.

Her smile doesn't fade.

With that, I tug her off the dance floor. "Let's get out of here."

Just as we reach the stairs, we pass Trish, who stops me in my tracks. It's nearly impossible to hear anything above the music, so she whispers in my ear, "Ally isn't your typical beach bunny, so please be careful with her."

I nod in understanding and give Trish a quick peck on the cheek and tell her I'm taking Ally home.

On the way to my Jeep, I find a spot that overlooks the cliff and tug Ally over there. I take a seat on the railing. Ally remains standing and looks at me, crossing her arms over her chest.

"You look great," I tell her.

Her hair blows in the wind. "Thanks, but don't think I wore this dress for you."

I smirk at her. "Right. I guess not, since I told you I wasn't coming, and all."

She stares at me. "I wore it for me."

"Yeah, well, I still think you look great."

Ally shifts her eyes my way but says nothing more.

At first I find myself looking away, but then I turn my head to meet her gaze. "Look, I'm really sorry."

"For what?"

"For the way I acted last week. I shouldn't have ignored you."

Our eyes lock. "I accept your apology, and to be honest, it did hurt my feelings that you didn't come over to talk to me at all this week."

I give her a hesitant shrug. "I could lie and say I was busy, but the truth is my mind is in a really bad place right now and I wasn't sure what to do."

"I get it, Austin, but I thought we were just having fun."

Uncertain why, I put myself out there. "We were. I mean we are. I mean I want to. It's just, I haven't felt like that with someone in so long, it freaked me out." I pause, flustered with myself.

"Go on," she prompts.

"After you left I convinced myself we'd run into each other outside, and when we didn't, I started to wonder if you were avoiding me."

She smirks at me. So she was.

This time I take control and raise a brow. "Look, I know I screwed up, but the truth is that over this past week I realized that I have more fun with you than I've had with anyone in a very long time."

That flirty look she gives me tells me she believes me.

Done with the whole feelings thing, I reach for her hand and pull her to me. With my hands threading through her hair, I take her mouth and seal my lips to hers.

Her hands on my ass surprise me.

Breaking the kiss, I pull away. "'Fact is, the law says you cannot touch.'"

"Oh, my God, you do watch dancing movies. You watched Magic Mike."

I slap her ass. "Twice. Get your dollar bills ready, baby— you're going to need them."


	12. Chapter 12

i'm so sorry for not updating like i said i would last week. it's been extremely busy! however, i hope this chapter makes up for it.

enjoy! x

* * *

Ally

Driving down pacific coast highway, I look out in the darkness and smile. The moon and the stars and planets might be lighting up the sky, but right now my universe is aglow with Austin Moon.

Never in my twenty-one years have I left a club with a guy who wasn't my boyfriend; then again, I'd never had a one-night stand, either. It just wasn't in my DNA. Note the wasn't, because it is now.

I'm not exactly drunk, but I am tipsy, and Austin is driving me home. That means I can cross number five off the list, I think with a giggle.

5\. Get drunk and let someone else worry how you're going to get home ✓

"What's so funny?" Austin asks.

Reaching into my purse, I take my phone from it and pull up the list Trish sent me. "Pull over— I want to show you something."

He raises one sexy brow. "If you want to show me your gorgeous tits, you can just flash me right now. I promise I'll drive faster so I can suck on them for a good long time as soon as I get you home."

Such a dirty boy.

Just to see his reaction, I consider flashing him, but in this dress it will be nearly impossible. That's when a better idea strikes. I'll give him dirty. "You know what? Never mind; just keep driving."

"No way. Now you have to tell me."

I shake my head. "Not happening."

"Give me your phone."

"No."

"Come on, hand it over," he says.

Closing the list, I do as he asks. Why not let him ponder for a bit? He'll never find it in the email anyway. And it's fun to tease him.

When Austin comes to a light, he glances down at my phone and presses a few buttons. "Holy shit." He whistles. "I just struck gold."

Oh, my God!

No.

No.

No.

"Give me that!" I shriek, having forgotten all about my little photo shoot this morning.

Smirking to himself, he presses some more buttons and hits send before I can grab my phone from his hands.

"What did you do?" I ask, horrified. "Please tell me you didn't post my picture on your Facebook wall or tweet it or something equally as mortifying."

The light turns green and he presses on the gas. "First of all, I added you to my contacts and needed a pic to put beside it. Second, I'd never share you with anyone. Third, I don't have any social media accounts anymore. They were a big pain in the ass. And finally," he grins, "have I told you lately that you are so fucking hot?"

Inside, I dance a little; outside, I frown. "Give me your phone," I tell him.

"No way." He smirks.

"Give it to me so I can delete that picture."

"Now why would I do that?"

"Because I'm naked."

"Exactly! When did you take it, anyway? Wait, let me guess: when you were spying on me this morning and got all hot and bothered."

My features pull together, somewhat relieved, but not really. "No, I did not. As a matter of fact, I took it of myself this morning before I spied on you. I mean before I used my camera to figure out what book you were reading."

"Right," he says.

"It's true. And if you must know, I was going to show you a list of things I want to accomplish, and since we're having fun together, I thought you might help me."

"I'd love to help you." There's suggestiveness in his tone, and he's not too far off in using it. "What is this list?" he asks. "Anything to do with your playlist?"

Surprised he figured it out, I can only answer him truthfully. "Yes, it's a way for me to prove to myself that I'm not the uptight bitch Elliot called me."

In a flash, he opens the window. "Fuck you, Elliot, Ally is not an uptight bitch. She's downright gorgeous is what she is!" he yells, throwing the middle finger.

Laughing, I can't help but feel a tug at my heart that he gets me.

Someone gets me.

 _He_ gets me.

"What do I have to do?" he asks once the laughter fades.

Placing my hand on top of his thigh, I give it a little squeeze and in a voice somewhere between playful and seductive, I say, "All you have to do is keep driving."

With a full-blown blinding smile that makes my heart skip a beat and my lips tingle, he cocks his head and glances over at me. "Drive. That's all?"

"Yep. Just drive." Smiling, I lean over the center console and add, "And don't stop."

Laughing huskily, he glances down at my hand on his lap and both eyebrows shoot up.

Super excited by his reaction, I begin to slide my palm up his leg to the button on his jeans, slipping my fingertips inside his waistband.

His breathing picks up and he groans when he feels my fingers wiggle around. "Ally, what are you doing?"

Leaning toward him again, I whisper in his ear, "You might want to keep your eyes on the road, or better yet, pull over as soon as you can."

His gaze falls to his lap just as I successfully unbutton his jeans and begin pulling down his zipper. "Ally, really, what are you doing?"

Tickled that I am able to shock him, I glance up from under my lashes. "Austin, you're a smart guy. I think you know what I'm doing."

The noise he makes is something between a moan and a growl.

Seductively, I whisper, "You don't know me well enough yet, but I never let an item go unchecked on a list if I can help it."

"Undressing me in my Jeep is on your list?" he manages to ask.

By this point I am kissing his neck, his jawline, and the outer edge of his ear. "No, it isn't, but giving a guy the best blow job of his life is."

"A guy?"

"You, Austin. You. I'm going to give you the best blow job of your life."

Practically unable to speak, he mutters, "Didn't you promise me that once before?"

"I did, but you ran away before I delivered. Now I'm going to put my money where my mouth is."

Almost incoherently, he laughs, "I'll be happy for you to put your mouth on my cock, but I'm not sure I want to be a check mark."

My fingers fumble and falter as I manage to get his cock out. It is thick and long, glistening at the head with clear, sweet pre-cum. Dipping my head to taste him, I lick it clean. Once. Twice. Three times.

He cries out, low and aching. "Okay, hell, I don't care— go ahead and use me to check that box off your list."

Outside the weather is cool. In here it's hot and steamy. "That's really generous of you to let me use your cock for my list."

He laughs. "Now that the issue of having my cock is settled, how about we wait until we get home?"

Pleasure arcs through me hot and electric as soon as I grip him at his base. "No. I don't think I'm going to wait."

"Fuck." He quickly moves from the outermost lane to the side and reduces his speed.

More than ready, I drag his cock along my lips.

The car jerks and he pulls over.

Sitting up, I look around. We're in an empty parking lot. This is perfect. Unbuckling my seat belt, I glance over at him. The night is dark, but the moon overhead sheds enough of a glow that I can see him. His back is pushed against the seat, his lids are slightly hooded, and his eyes are overflowing with desire.

My heart skips a little. I'm doing this. Really doing this. Without any more thought, I reach over and trail a finger up the hardness of his belly muscles to circle a nipple covered in soft fabric.

His whole body shaking, he trembles and moans from just my touch and I feel powerful. Very powerful. With his mouth open just a little, I get a glimpse of his teeth and tongue. That look is beyond sexy and his name escapes my lips with a moan of my own.

Fast as sin, his hand goes to the back of my neck and he yanks me to him. Fingers tangle and tug in my hair as his lips brush across mine, whispering filthy words of lust. He draws me closer. I bite his lower lip, catching it between my teeth and pulling until he jerks back.

I breathe his air. Neither of us moves for a few long moments; we just stare at each other. Seven long nights I've thought about him. About touching him like this. Kissing him again. Wrapping my mouth around his cock. I wonder if he has, too.

Beneath my now-flattened palm, I can feel Austin's heart thud faster and faster. "Come here," he demands, in that low and rasping voice that soon might send me hurtling over the edge of orgasm.

A thrill runs through me. Excitement bounces and moves across my skin. The almost feral tone enough in itself to launch me right over.

Those hips of his jerk upright as soon as my tongue darts to that delicious tip, circling it just once for another taste before skimming my mouth down his cock and back up. Down and back up. Then once again.

His fingers tug my hair a little harder this time, and when I go down on him this time, I use my teeth.

Fueled by that spark of desire surging between us, he thrusts into my mouth. Letting my muscles go lax, I take him in, take him so deep, all the way to the back of my throat.

"Oh fuck," he cries out, his voice deep. Hard.

Moving my mouth, I take him again. Then once more.

As I ease his hot, thick flesh into my mouth, then out, I can hear my own erratic breathing, and it matches his.

A hand soothes down my back and dips inside my dress. Those long fingers caress my bare cheeks and then slide along the seam of my thong, pressing, applying a little pressure along the way.

No one has ever touched me there. Not like he is doing. Completely off limits up until now, I never expected to be so turned on by it.

My clit pulsing, aching, ready to burst into orgasm, I clench his base with one hand and slide my mouth down, down, down. Muscles relaxing, I let go of my hold on him and find myself deep-throating him. Who would have thought it to be a real thing?

Letting go of my head, Austin grabs my free hand and starts to suck hard on my thumb. "You're so fucking hot, Ally."

Passion is bubbling over inside me as I take him in my mouth as far as I can. When his tip hits the very back of my throat, I keep it there. Moving my mouth just slightly, this time I use my teeth, not my lips.

"Oh, fuck, oh fuck." His breathing is hoarse.

Clenching my thighs together, I think I might just come without a single touch. See, I didn't need that damn vibrator after all.

Pushing him even farther, with my tongue, I continue to lick circles around his base. I feel him shudder. Once. Twice. Three times.

His body's reaction, his groans, his heavy breathing, they're all stoking the fire already blazing through my body. I want this to be the best he's ever had, so I suck harder and move faster. I can feel myself getting wetter and wetter with every passing movement— both his and mine.

With the loudest of groans, he tugs on my thong, and it causes a pressure against my clit that makes me feel like comets are streaming down on us.

Taking him all the way in and pulling him out as I rasp my teeth gently against his long, hard length, I do it over and over with everything I have.

"Oh fuck, Ally," he curses and his body stiffens before relaxing. If I could see him, I'd bet he's about to lose control.

Sliding my lips down him again, I find his balls and fondle them.

"Oh fuck, Ally," he repeats. Groaning loudly, he slides his hand across my back, muttering my name over and over.

His breath quickens as I rock my head up and down. His hand grabs my ass so tight, I know I'll have bruises. I don't care.

Hearing Austin suck in a few quick breaths through his teeth, I know he's close to coming. When I flick my tongue across his tip, circling it, sucking it, he hisses, "Fuck, it's going to happen. I'm going to come. You have to stop now."

"No, I want to taste you."

Austin's nearly panting when his body stills and his muscles clench. I can taste the salty sweetness flowing down my throat as I swallow. Taking a few moments to let him catch his breath, I run my hands up and down his thighs.

Raising my head, I wipe my mouth with my hand and I can't help but grin at him. His breathing slowly returns to normal. Content, I lick my lips, still able to taste him, and his eyes widen.

"Holy fuck, I think I'm seeing stars," he mutters.

I give him a quick wink. "Good. Now let's hurry up and get back to Trish's, because I really need you to fuck me."

"Want to do that again as I drive?" he asks with a quirk of his lips. "It was definitely the best blow job I ever had in my life."

If I weren't boneless right now, I'd be jumping for joy.

I did it.

* * *

Austin

The most commonly used position in the world is the missionary style. I learned this in the eighth grade when I Googled it. I can't even say why I typed those letters into the search engine, not out loud, anyway. Just the thought of my parents doing it makes me want to barf.

Although I normally avoid that position if I can, tonight I go for it. Face-to-face and skin-to-skin with Ally is exactly what I want. Need. Crave. Of course, the ability to control penetration depth and speed of thrusting is an added bennie. Not why I picked it at all.

The downside to this position is it makes it more difficult to hold off ejaculation due to the intense friction and deep thrusting. No worries, though— I have that little issue solved. Devious mind that I have, I had inconspicuously unplugged her vibe and slipped it under a pillow on her bed.

Now, feeling like I might come way too soon, I push up to create space between us so I can sneak it in to help bring her to orgasm along with me.

The screech she makes as soon as I turn it on, followed by the thud of the vibe against the wall, puts an end to that solution faster than I had anticipated.

May the pink vibe rest in peace.

It's cool, don't worry; I have more tricks up my sleeve, or naked ass in this case. Not literally. The thought of that seriously gives me chills.

Almost urgently, I raise her left leg so her knee is level with my right shoulder and tell her to keep her other leg flat on the bed. Then I thrust toward the inner thigh of her raised leg. This adjustment forces tighter penetration and more clitoral pressure. It's brilliant, really.

Everything about us right now is hot. I thrust, faster and faster. Soon, I can feel that sweet pussy of hers squeezing against my cock. She starts to come, shouting my name. I'm right there, calling out her name. With my face twisting, eyes slamming shut, and fingers clutching her body, I come so fucking hard. When I'm spent, I arch my back and roll onto the pillow beside her.

That cute little moan she makes has me opening my eyes a moment later, and I smile at her. When she smiles back, I reach to tangle my hand in her hair. I tug it, pulling her close to kiss my mouth. "That was amazing," I whisper.

"It was," she sighs, settling her head beside me.

Lazy waves of the lustful aftermath lull me, but I can't let it pull me under— not yet, anyway; I have business to tend to. Disengaging from her, I go into the bathroom to discard the condom, ultra smooth this time. Since we were at her place, she had no choices, and wasn't happy about it when I pulled two of the same ones from my wallet. Next time, I'll be more prepared, I told her. She winked and told me variety was the spice of life. I'd give her variety all right.

Post-sex sleepiness lodges in my eyes and all I want to do is crawl back into that big, soft bed of hers with the satiny sheets, pull her to me, and fall asleep.

When I come out of the bathroom, Ally is standing at the foot of the bed in a tight, super-tight, I might add, tank top and lacy panties, both black, both see-through, and both hot as fuck.

Mere moments ago I might have thought I was tired, but my cock has a different idea, already rising again just minutes after coming. This is fucking nuts. With her anywhere near me, I seem to walk around with a constant hard-on.

As soon as she sees me, she jerks out her arm. That's when I see my clothes hooked in her hand.

I furrow my brows. "What are those for?"

Practically expressionless, she tilts her head and gives me that sexy low-lidded stare I like so much. "So you don't walk home naked."

My surprise has to be evident on my face. "You're kicking me out?"

For some reason I just thought I'd be staying.

Poker-faced still, she seems to be contemplating my question. "I wouldn't call it that," she answers.

After a few seconds of silence, I ask, "What if I refuse to leave?"

Instead of answering me, she whirls around to face the bed, her hand flying to her mouth and a giggle escaping her throat. "Then I guess you can stay," she manages with all out laughter.

Yeah, she got me.

Narrowing my eyes at her, even though she can't see me, I have a choice to make. Call her bluff and leave or provide the ultimate payback. Of course, I choose the latter.

Lunging for her, I tackle her to the bed, flip her around, and pin her wrists over her head. "That was mean, just down-right mean."

She bites down on her lip and looks up at me. "I couldn't help myself, but the look on your face was priceless."

I take both wrists in one hand and use my other to find her belly. "Payback is a bitch, baby."

That smile. Fuck, that smile. "No, stop. I'm ticklish."

"You shouldn't have told me that," I murmur and tickle her from under her arms to way down below her belly.

"Stop, please— that was payback for the vibrator."

"Say, 'Austin Moon is a sex god,' and I'll stop."

That body of hers bounces, that laughter gets higher and higher, and I feel a strange something going on in my chest because of it. "Mercy!" she calls out.

Leaning down so our noses are almost touching, I breathe hot against her lips. "Say, 'Austin Moon is a sex god.'"

If there were ever a master tickler, it would be me. Just ask my sister. I used to make her so mad with the things she had to say to get me to stop. None of them sexual in nature, of course, but things that pissed her off, like, "My brother is always right," or "My brother is the best ever." It was so much fun. This is equally so, and then some.

Ally snorts, tears falling from her eyes, and then finally it comes. "Austin Moon is a sex god."

"Sorry, I didn't hear you."

"Austin Moon is a sex god!" she shouts.

Satisfied, I stop. "I think everyone knows now."

She punches me, and I grab her arm again, this time tugging her to the head of the bed and pulling her snug to me, her back to my front.

Happy like this, I bend to pull the sheet around us and then kiss between her shoulder blades. She tucks her hand under her cheek.

My hand drifts up and down her hip, moving the sheet in a motion like waves rolling in the ocean.

Some time passes and then Ally turns around to rest her head on my shoulder.

I kiss her hair. "I don't know what this is between us, but I can't get you out of my head."

"I don't know either, but I feel it too."

That is all that needs to be said for now. "Good."

Her fingertips dance lightly across my skin and soon she traces the B on my chest. She's never asked me about it, but I know she must wonder.

The words just come out. "We called ourselves the ABC's— Austin, Brandon, and Cassidy. Brandon was the oldest. He was always the fun-loving one. I was the middle child and the responsible one. And Cassidy, well, she was the queen of the house."

Ally's hand pauses for the barest of blinks before continuing to stroke my chest. "Brandon, is he B?"

I nod my head. "Yes. He died just over a year ago."

Her head lifts to look at me. "Tell me about him."

"He was always the life of the party. Everybody loved him. He had that kind of gravitational pull, you know?"

She nods in understanding.

"It made everyone always want to be around him. But as the years went on, he just refused to grow up and be responsible. That was always my role— taking care of the three of us while our parents argued their way through life."

Ally listens without comment.

"That's what fucking pisses me off the most. All he had to do was talk to me. Tell me what he was feeling. I would have helped him any way I could. Instead, now every time I look in the fucking mirror, I wish I hadn't gotten this damn tattoo because it only reminds me how pissed I am at him."

Her head lifts, but again she says nothing.

I close my eyes. "The night you saw me in Chinatown was the night of his memorial service. One that my father insisted on having to ease his own conscience or put on a show for his friends, who knows. I was out just trying to forget about it."

She moves closer to me. "Why? You didn't want to go?"

My eyes fly open. "Fuck no. I hate to go to any of my father's dog-and-pony shows. I went for my mother and sister."

"What about for Brandon?" she asks.

"I already told you— I'm fucking mad at him."

"But Austin, he's your brother."

"Was," I clarify.

"No, Austin, he is. Just because he isn't alive doesn't change that."

"Fuck that. He overdosed and left me. Left me because he couldn't deal with our prick of a father or cope with the demands of growing up. Unlike me, Brandon never stood up to our father. I didn't realize working for our father was making him so unhappy. If I had, I would have gone to bat for him against the prick." I pause for a moment before adding, "I just never knew how bad things were."

"Was he a drug addict?"

"Yes, but I never knew it. I only thought he liked to party. He was good at hiding his addiction."

Both of her elbows on my chest, she asks, "But Austin, that's what some addicts do— hide it."

"But I was his brother; I should have seen it. Why couldn't he have talked about his condition with me? We were best friends, for fuck's sake."

"Maybe he didn't want to burden you?"

I sit up, wanting to be done with this conversation.

She wraps her arms around me. When I don't recoil, she tightens her hold. "It isn't your fault. I don't have to know all the circumstances or exactly what happened, but I know that addictions have a way of taking over someone's life. And sometimes it's hard for us on the outside to understand that."

Getting up on my knees, I turn around to face her. "I've heard it all before," I tell her.

"Then you're not listening. Bad things happen, Austin. And I get that right now you hate your brother for dying, but he didn't do it to you. He died from a drug overdose. And maybe that's what you should think about because I am certain he wouldn't want you blaming yourself."

"I know that," I spit out.

"Do you? Isn't your guilt holding you back from doing something with your life you might care about?"

I look over my shoulder with a scowl. "You don't know what you're talking about."

There's no pity in her eyes as she looks at me, just a softened expression and maybe a little understanding. Lightly, she kisses my shoulder. "Yes, I do. I know you want to do more than you are."

"How do you know that?"

"I see your mind working whenever you talk about local businesses around here and how they're doing. You always have an idea about how to make them better. You see what other's don't. You need to move forward, Austin. Stop letting your hatred for your father or your anger toward your brother hold you back. You may not ever be able to forgive your father, but you have to forgive your brother."

Bold words, and they strike me like lightning.

With a sigh, I try to explain myself without getting angry with her. "You don't get it. That's all I can think about. I graduated Columbia Business School four weeks after Brandon died. I was supposed to go to work for my father, but I didn't. The grief of my brother's death was too much. Brooke went to work for him instead and I took some time off. I have no idea how long she had been fucking him before I found them that Thanksgiving. I never asked. She tried to tell me his grief had gotten to her and she only wanted to comfort him. His grief? His grief! Can you believe that?"

Ally gets on her knees and put her hands on my arms. "No, I can't. I can't believe you had to deal with that in the midst of grieving for your brother. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. I'm not. In fact, catching them together might have been the best thing that ever happened to me because it brought me out here. Lifeguard or not, my life is so much better here than there. Like I told you, my mom thinks I'm living in a dreamworld and that I refuse to get a real job because I want to hurt my father, and she tells me as often as she can that I'm hurting myself more than him."

Her hands slide down and she squeezes mine. "Do you think she might be right?"

I put my hands on her hips and pull her close to me. "Sometimes I do. Lately, more than I used to."

She rests her head on my shoulder. "Maybe that means you finally believe it and are ready to do something about it."

"I don't know," I breathe out with a deep sigh. "All I know is I'm ready to stop talking about this."

For a long time we stay that way. Staring at each other. Unmoving.

Having had more than enough pillow talk, I push her to the bed and lean down to kiss her knee.

She giggles. "That tickles."

The sound is breathy and hoarse. I like it. Liking the way her skin feels, I glide my lips down a little to kiss her calf, then lower still to kiss the bone of her ankle.

Her toes wiggle, and I take her foot between my hands and start to massage it.

She rises on her elbows. "That feels so good."

Maneuvering my fingers, I apply a little more pressure. "The summer after college I went backpacking with my brother and Dez. Somehow we ended up on a plane to Singapore, because Dez had this idea in his head that the women in Singapore were like no others on earth."

Her grin lights up her whole face. "And were they?"

I bob my head from side to side as if stretching the muscles in memory. "They were gorgeous, that was for sure, and they were small, so short and petite. But let me tell you, they had the most amazing hands. The massages they gave were definitely like no other."

She covers her mouth and feigns shock. "Let me guess... you all enjoyed your happy endings."

I raise both my brows and wiggle them. "That we did."

She laughs and shakes her head. "I give a pretty good massage, too, Mr. Moon."

I lick my tongue up her thigh. "I will most definitely be taking you up on that, Ms. Dawson."

Her nipples go tight beneath her tank top when I nip at the lace of her panties, and I know she has to be wet for me. "Anytime, day or night." She winks.

I meet her gaze and the air shifts. "Take your top off," I tell her.

Without wasting a minute, she stands and strips it off, and then hooks her thumbs in the side of her panties.

"Stop," I tell her, and then make a twirling motion with my finger. "Turn around."

She does.

It is not a thong, but half of her ass cheeks show. So fucking hot. "Fuck, what do you call those?"

"Brazilians," she purrs over her shoulder. "And don't you dare ask me to put on six-inch platforms and pretend to swing around a pole."

My cock rises against my belly and I stroke it lightly. "That could be fun."

From over her shoulder, her eyes land on my hands and her lips part. I stroke a little harder, seeing how much it excites her.

"Sorry, no pole in here," she says.

"That could be arranged."

"I don't think Trish would appreciate it."

"Shhh," I order. "Come here."

Turning around, she takes her panties off as she walks and flings them across the room before she joins me on the bed.

I breathe her in. I breathe her out. Voice muffled against her flesh, I whisper, "Fuck me."

And she does.


	13. Chapter 13

ok so in order to catch up with my updates, here's another one! enjoy!

thank you for the reviews.

* * *

Ally

You know how sometimes you meet someone you just click with?

Yeah, for me that never happens. Not until now. Not until Austin. He and I talk about everything. No subject is off limits. It's fun and exciting, and a little scary, too. Our views are sometimes the same, sometimes different. Debates are always up for grabs. And long discussions seem to go by in the blink of an eye.

I know all about where he ranked on the swim team in high school and who his favorite football team is. That he likes basketball over baseball and wants to get season tickets to the Miami Heat this year. He's even shared stories about his brother and sister, such as how they would trick their nanny into leaving them alone. How they used to get on the subway without their parents knowing and explore the city on their own. How they always counted on each other. Did everything together.

In turn, he knows I graduated top in my class. That I didn't lose my virginity until I went to college. Yes, I took a lot of flak about that from Trish. I told him about my mother dying. About Trish's mother taking me in and how she is like my own. And he knows that performing the songs that I write is my lifelong dream.

With each waking hour, I think we learn a little more about each other.

It's not as if I've been keeping track in my date book or anything, but we've seen each other every day for the past twenty-two days. We haven't spent every night together. However, the nights we didn't stay together, Austin snuck into my bed in the early hours of the morning to wake me up before he went to work. All I can say is the sex is fantastic. Varied. Wild. Crazy. Subdued. Romantic. Hot. The list goes on and on. And yes, don't shoot me, but I made a list of adjectives to describe it.

Then there are his text messages. Like clockwork, he texts me during the day when he's on break— funny texts, dirty texts, downright pornographic texts sometimes. They always make me laugh and sometimes make me blush.

I try to be as witty as I can, but when it comes right down to it, I'm just not as funny as he is.

Austin goes back to New York tomorrow for his sister's graduation. He'll be gone a week, and I think I might miss him.

It's odd to think a guy I haven't known that long already means so much to me.

Honestly, I've tried not to think about it too much. I have a tendency to overthink everything and I refuse to overthink us.

As I fit my key into my door, a text goes off from my phone.

 **Austin: I'm off for lunch at 1. Want to meet me?**

 **Me: Just got home. Let me pick something up and we can have a picnic. Where should I meet you?**

 **Austin: At the main lifeguard tower. Grab the book. It's on my nightstand right next to the studded condoms. Feel free to bring one of those along too. Gabe will have nothing on me.**

 **Me: Keep dreaming.**

Taking my time, I go inside and yank my dress clothes off so that I can slip into something more comfortable and maybe a little sexier. A strapless sundress is perfect. I pull my hair back and grab a pair of flip-flops. Much better.

I'd spent the morning writing songs and also trying to see a record label that will catch my attention here in Miami.

Turns out I couldn't live without a plan. It just isn't me. Free love. That I can do. Free bird? Not so much.

List complete or not, I think I know who I am. The same old Ally— just an improved version. And I like who she is.

Austin and Dez hide their spare key under the front mat. How clichéd is that? But hey, it works out when I need to get inside.

Unlocking the door, I hurry through the kitchen and stop when I see a gift box on the table.

Now, we all know curiosity killed the cat and I should know better, but still I can't resist, and I lift the lid slightly. There's something silver and shiny inside and it gleams in the sunlight. Now I have to know what it is.

Lid off, I stare down at it, almost studying it, completely uncertain what it is. It's one solid piece of metal with three beads on the end and a curved handle. There's a card, so I pick it up. It reads, "Austin, here's a fun wand, which can be used vaginally and anally, not necessarily in that order. Bring it with you when you come to New York and stop by. No strings attached. Promise. Can't wait to see you. Love, Brooke."

Like a hot potato, I drop it into the box and wish I'd never even looked inside. Now, I not only have the picture in my mind of how it works, but of Brooke using it in front of Austin to lure him back.

Awesome. Just awesome.

Rushing from the room, I run to his. Taking a breath, I calm myself down. I have nothing to worry about. He's never given me cause in the least to fret over Brooke. Just because she hung out with him and his brother all the time and they share memories of Brandon doesn't mean he wants to fuck her. Just because I saw him give in to her once doesn't mean he will again.

Convinced I'm right, I grab the book and stare at the condom package with a smile. Austin bought a whole bunch of silly ones, but that one is by far the funniest. Small silver studs coat the outside with one large one at the end. It is meant to stimulate the feeling of a piercing when inside me. So far, I have refused that one, but who knows, I might decide on it tonight.

Feeling better, I leave, trying not to think about the fun wand— in all its shininess and the angles of pleasure it promises to bring. Austin and I don't need toys like that to find our pleasure.

* * *

Excited to be driving my first automobile, I hop into my bright blue Jeep. I had narrowed it down to either the two-door Jeep, smaller than Austin's, or a Ford Focus. Horrified at the idea of me driving anything but a car without a roof in a beach town, Austin talked me into the Jeep. The color wasn't his favorite. It suited the new me perfectly.

Stopping at the only sandwich shop in Miami Beach that offers more than gluten-free bread, I order two ham-and-Swiss-on-whole-wheat sandwiches, a bag of veggie chips (because they didn't offer real potato chips), and two waters. Painting a smile on my face while still dwelling on what he was going to do with that present, I head to the beach. Once I park my car, I go in search of him, trying not to think about the kind of sex life he had with Brooke. Whereas Elliot and I were vanilla all the way, were he and Brooke chocolate?

Oh, God, I'm stressing.

His shirt off and foot propped up, I spot his long, lean body immediately. He's standing outside the main lifeguard tower, which strangely enough is not used as a tower anymore because of its age. Yet it remains firmly planted on Miami Beach because it is iconic. At least that is what Austin has told me.

From afar, I watch him stretch and move. Always fascinated by the lines of his body and its dips and hollows, I wonder if I freeze right here, how long I can watch him before he looks my way.

Within seconds, he turns my way with a smile so wide and bright and genuine that I want to kiss his face off. I want to run my hands through that mess of his hair and smooth my fingertips over those brows and trace the curves of his ears with my tongue. I want to eat him up like the juiciest of apples and let him drip down my hand, my wrist, my arm, and then lick him all up.

Instead, Brooke is all I can see, that image from the night in the club when she licked him all up, and all I can muster is the barest hint of a smile. "Hey."

"Hi." He scoops me up and twirls me around, ignoring or not noticing my standoffish behavior.

"You look... great," he says as he lowers me to the ground.

I don't respond. I look at the picnic basket I packed in my hand instead, though honestly, I don't care if we eat at all.

"I snagged us a cabana for the next hour," he tells me, pointing to one about five huts over.

The solicitous hand at the small of my back as he takes the basket from me makes my knees go weak.

"So I had this kid near my tower this morning who kept pretending to drown..."

Telling each other about our days is always something I look forward to, but right now all the words seem to blend together. Step-by-step, side-by-side in the sand, I feel like I might burst if I don't ask him about what I saw.

Inside the cabana there is a television, a couch, a couple of chairs, and a minibar. It's pretty nice, I have to say. Austin sets the basket on a table in front of the couch and turns to me with a frown. "Are you mad at me?"

"Should I be?" I press my lips together and rub my tongue slowly on the inside of my teeth to keep my voice low.

"Let's see, as far as I know, nothing has happened since I ate you for breakfast," he says, taking my arms with his rough, callused hands and making me shiver.

That hint of a smile on my lips makes me angrier. Why does he always do that to me— make me laugh in any situation, even when I don't want to?

"Are you on the rag?" he asks. "Because if you are, you could have warned me. PMS sometimes turns women into another being. My sister is always a real bitch during that time, so I know how to deal with it."

My mouth falls open and the words just fly out. "No, I do not have my period. But did you know how to deal with Brooke when she was on the rag?"

He blinks a few times and then I think it hits him. "You looked in the box on my kitchen table, didn't you?"

I shrug. "I might have."

He laughs. He actually laughs.

I want to punch him. Instead I step back.

Austin grabs me and holds me tight. "Brooke has been sending me sex toys since I moved here, like her being provocative would woo me."

"And what, you hold on to them?"

He laughs again. "No; in the past, I'd find a girl and use them with her— you know, as a 'fuck you' to Brooke. But this time, I was just going to throw it away until Dez stopped me. He wanted it to play some joke on his friend."

My whole body relaxes. "Oh," is all I can say.

That laughter takes over the small space and he pulls me flush to his body. "Are you jealous?"

I push away. "No, should I be?"

Unwavering, he tugs me back. "No, I only want you," he whispers in my ear as he licks around it. "I won't even be seeing her this week since my sister can't stand her. But even if I do, you have nothing to worry about."

Austin's confession fills me and I feel stupid for being jealous over a woman who hurt him so badly. "I'm sorry," I offer, "I shouldn't have reacted like that."

His lips find mine. "Baby, green suits you, but if you're feeling guilty, I think I can come up with a good way for you to make it up to me."

Dying to hear this, I lean back. "And what would that be?"

He winks at me. "How about we talk about it after lunch." And then he opens the picnic basket.

Once the food is set out, we sit beside each other on the couch and go about eating. I unwrap my sandwich and shake a little mustard pack on it. Austin watches me with keen interest. I give him a smile, and he licks his lips before he starts chewing his sandwich. I sip my water. Swallow. He takes a bite of a chip and makes a face. That breaks our comfortable silence.

"They taste like cardboard," he says.

"I know. But it was either that or kale salad."

He shivers and takes another bite. "I'll stick with the cardboard."

After that, things return to normal between us and I tell him about my morning. Slight detour, but we're back on track.

We finish our food and Austin grabs the book. "Book club time." He grins and stretches out on the cushion that isn't exactly as soft as a couch, but better than the sand we laid on last week when we did this. It's taking a while to finish this book because we keep getting distracted.

I squeeze in between him and the back of the outdoor furniture and rest my chin on his bare chest. Unable to stop myself, my gaze lowers to his body. To his abs, which are smooth and so ripped I have to trace the indentations with a finger. His legs are solid muscle, and I push one of my legs between his just to feel his strength against me.

My eyes lifts to his nipple right beside me and I think about how much he likes it when I bite him there, then to his tan neck, thick and strong, his Adam's apple sexy as he speaks in that deep voice.

"Ally." He slaps my ass.

I meet his gaze.

"You ready?" He laughs as if knowing exactly what I'm thinking.

"Ready." I smile up at him and close my eyes.

With his arm outstretched and the book over our bodies, that caramel voice is clear and loud. "'Gabe was taller than Owen and had ink on his pale skin, whereas Owen was tan and had none. Gabe had come to Summer with nipple rings, and his recent gift to her of a piercing on his cock brought endless pleasure.'" Austin pauses.

Smoothing my hand on his warm chest, I look up at him. "You're still hung up on that, aren't you?"

He shifts a little, causing my body to cover more of his. "That piercing. I just can't even think about it. It has to hurt like a motherfucker."

I can't stop touching him, circling my fingers around his nipples. "He did it for her. For her pleasure. I think it's romantic."

His head jerks down. "I don't know. Flowers would be just as romantic, and way less painful."

I pinch his nipple hard. "Just keep reading."

"Ouch," he says. "Do that again. I can take the pain in the name of romance."

That laugh sends shivers through my body. "Keep reading, Romeo."

"Okay, okay. 'Summer raised herself to her elbows to see the two sets of eyes upon her. Two men licking her cunt, stroking her, fucking her with their fingers, bringing her to the edge of pure, undiluted pleasure.'" Austin stops and runs his hand down my ponytail.

I grow hotter at his caress.

With his eyes burning into mine, he says, "Gabe is obviously the alpha, so why does he continue to share her with Owen? Why not kick him to the curb?"

Sweat warms us and practically melds our bodies together. With the air between us practically crackling, I answer him. "Because Owen gives her what Gabe doesn't— tenderness."

His strong shoulders, muscled biceps, and hard, sculpted six-pack are suddenly all I can see as he shakes his head in disbelief. "Why can't one man be enough?"

I watch a drip of sweat trickle down his washboard abs. "I think for most, one is," I say, and wonder if he's thinking about why Brooke cheated on him.

Austin tugs on my ponytail a little forcefully. "Do you think I have a little Gabe and a little Owen in me?"

I look into his needy, hot gaze. "Yes, I think you do, and you're more than enough for me," I reassure him.

Puffing his chest, he laughs. "That sounded a lot like I was fishing. Please forget I even asked you that."

My fingertips trail over the top of his thigh, and I bend to kiss his chest. "I will not. I rather like the thought of being a little good and a little bad."

He shakes his head. "You, Ally Dawson, never cease to amaze me with what you say."

A small lick around his nipple makes my own poke against the cotton of my dress. "Good. Then I know I can always keep you guessing."

With a laugh, Austin settles his gaze on the book. "'Summer's heart pounded as Owen clasped his arms around her ribs just below her breasts. Gabe shifted on his feet and gripped his cock at the base, guiding it to her opening and pushing inside her. In one quick thrust, he pushed inside her to the hilt."

Neither one of us comments, both entranced by the activities of these three.

"'With Owen behind her, Gabe fucked her slowly for a few strokes, then hooked his hands beneath her knees, bending them, pushing her harder against Owen and deepening the angle. Summer cried out as he pumped inside her and then he stopped, giving just enough time for Owen to lift her and lower her back down. His body shifted so he could enter her from behind, and together the three of them rocked. Skin slapped and sucked. Someone moaned. Another groaned. Pleasure struck so fiercely, it left all three of them breathless.'" Austin slams the book closed and pulls me fully on top of him.

I peek up at him from under my lashes.

His eyes blaze down at me.

With the feel of his erection hot and thick against my belly, I dig my chin sharply into his chest and gaze at him, squirming a little. "Hey, big boy, did you get a little turned on there?"

Abruptly, Austin sits up, scooting me to sit beside him. "I would never, ever share you with another guy."

"I... I would never want that."

Standing, he tugs me to my feet. "Good. Then yes, I'm really turned on and only have twenty minutes before I have to get back to work. Come with me."

Trailing behind him, I find it hard to keep up with him as my flip-flops keep getting stuck in the sand.

I have no idea where we are going.

But really, it's not like I wouldn't follow him anywhere.

Anywhere.

* * *

Austin

Planning to have sex on the beach takes all the spontaneity right out of the fun.

That's why Ally and I have yet to do it. Also, the patrols down the beach at night deter any wrongdoers and since I'm part of those patrols, getting caught would mean a lot of heckling.

Yet, there is a place that would check number three off Ally's list and allow our extreme pent-up sexual needs to be eased. Besides, waiting until after work to get inside her would be a bitch after the scene I just read.

The tower looks more like it belongs to a medieval castle than a city. In a place that values the newest and the latest, the lifeguard tower remains standing because it is iconic. Inspiring, they say. It represents the growth of the city and the need to expand the lifeguard force. It represents change. What it really means is someone paid a shit-ton of cash to keep it here.

The hexagonal building remains unused and locked. Lucky for me, I have a key. With people, benches, volleyball nets, and the American flag all close by, I hurry past them and unlock the door, discreetly pulling Ally inside and locking the door before anybody notices.

I've been here a few times, not to fuck, but to make sure no one has gotten in. People like to pick the lock and go inside for a quickie. This is one of those places that got Miami named the best place to have sex on the beach.

Inside is an old desk, worn from years of use, and nothing else. The space was stripped of all lifeguard supplies years ago. It's hot and musty, but functional nonetheless.

The windows down below are so dirty, no one can see inside, yet up above in the tower, the sun shines through them bold and bright.

Ally has her back to me.

"This is the last item on your list, Ally," I tell her.

"It is," she laughs and goes on to recite the list:

1\. Wear a bikini ✓

2\. Have sex with someone you don't know ✓

3\. Fuck on the beach— will be completed soon!

4\. Join the Mile High Club ✓

5\. Get drunk and let someone else worry how you're going to get home ✓

6\. Give a guy the best blow job of his life and make sure he knows it ✓

7\. Get a vibrator ✓

8\. Don't plan your day for the next thirty days

9\. Take a nude selfie ✓

10\. Read an erotic romance novel in public ✓

I laugh too. I think I know each item by heart as well. I'm happy for her. Not that I think it will change her in the least, but then again, I like who she is and how she is. But it makes her feel like she's accomplished something, and I get it.

She turns around. "Is it safe in here?"

Playing with her, I allow my gaze to the circle the area filled with nothing but walls, and laugh. "I don't think there are zombies hiding anywhere, unless we've entered an apocalypse in the last thirty minutes that I'm unaware of."

"No, I mean clean? Germ-free?"

Stalking toward her zombie-style, I grab hold of her and pretend to bite her neck, and then I whisper in her ear, "I know what you mean, Ally. Not to worry, baby, I'll bend you over the desk so you don't have to worry about the dirt on the floor."

She throws her head back. "Stop with the Walking Dead crap. It's creepy."

I push myself up against her body and move her back. "Not until I get you to watch it with Trish, Dez and me."

"Never," she moans.

I have her against the old desk. "Never say never."

Her hands go to anchor herself and she leans back.

I yank her top down to expose those breasts; I knew they'd be bare. The sweat is warm on her breasts, and delicious, and then my palms travel up her long, smooth legs, bringing her dress with me. Something strange is happening between us. I can't stop touching her, no matter where we are. I'd almost forgotten what it was like to feel this way. Happy.

"You're smiling." Ally looks at me from beneath hooded eyes. "Want to let me in on it?"

"A Yankees doubleheader, March Madness, overtime during the Frozen Four hockey finals, the Jets winning the Super Bowl."

Ally rocks her hips ever so slightly. "Huh?"

"Things that make me happy." I grin as she ponders my crazy-ass comment and clash my mouth to hers. "You," I add.

Teeth crash and as our bodies mold to each other, I take the kiss all the way. Deep. So deep, my head spins at the taste of her.

Everything about us is hands and mouths.

My hands are on her breasts, cupping them, fondling them, playing with the small handfuls. When she moans, I find her nipples, already hard for me, and roughly roll them between my thumb and forefinger.

Her mouth is on my throat and her responding bite is a little hard. I can't stop from hissing. She doesn't seem to mind the sound and licks the sting away. I wouldn't mind if she did it again.

Laughing, I stare down at her. "Zombie bites don't scare me."

She's breathing hard. "I want you."

I yank her up and turn her around. "You got me, baby, you got me."

A dizzying, gasp-like sound escapes her throat.

"Hold on," I tell her.

She grips the edge of the desk, which is only about six inches from the wall, just enough for her to hold onto.

Behind her, I hike her dress up again and stare at the leopard thong she's wearing, the one I bought her as a joke when I bought the condoms.

Condoms.

Oh fuck.

I have no wallet on me, which means I have no condoms.

"You wore it," I growl in her ear, running my fingers down the thin strap along the crease of her ass.

She pushes her ass toward me. "I think it's sexy."

My finger circles that forbidden zone. "It is. Someday, I want this," I tell her.

Her ponytail swings and she twists her head to look at me with those fuck-me eyes that make my dick feel like a rod of steel. "Maybe," she whispers. "Maybe someday."

Fuck me. That wasn't a no. "I can live with that," I say. "I just want a piece of you no one has ever had."

That blush she gets every now and then paints her face.

"We have a slight problem," I admit, sliding her thong down and reaching around to run my fingers along her slick, really wet, really ready-for-me pussy.

"What?" she breathes out, pushing her sex into my palm.

"I'm going to make you come, but that's all we can do for right now."

"What?" she repeats.

I slip a finger inside her. "I don't have any condoms."

"Fuck me without one. We've both been tested. I'm clean. You're clean. I'm on the pill."

I add another finger and move them up and down. "You sure?"

"Yes," she cries out. "Just do it now."

A sudden roar of fire licks up from my bare feet, shooting through my whole body at the thought of going bareback inside her. Inside Ally's sweet, little pussy.

"Austin," she prods.

Giving her one last finger fuck, I remove my hands and yank down my swimsuit. Then I nudge her legs apart and with my cock in my hand, I find her slick entrance and plunge inside her. Oh fuck, her pussy is so warm, so tight, and I feel like I could live inside her like this forever. "You feel amazing," I grunt as I thrust.

She moves against my thrusts. "So do you."

My chin presses into her shoulder and my mouth nuzzles beneath her ear. "Ally."

Tilting her head to the side, she allows me full access to her neck.

"Ally," I murmur against her soft flesh.

"Austin," she whimpers back.

My hands travel from her hips to her clit, and I press my fingers to it, applying pressure. "I'm not going to last long."

"Neither am I," she cries out.

"Fuck." I take my hands and put them on her hips so I can pump into harder, faster.

"Fuck," she cries out, and it only spurs me on. The good girl has a dirty little mouth when she's turned on. I fucking love it.

"Come for me, Ally," I command, my voice gruff with need. "Come around my cock. I need to feel it."

That hard demand must trigger her release because she cries out my name, over and over and over.

My hands caress the curve of her ass and my fingers dig into her hips as her pussy clenches around my cock. The feeling is unlike anything I've felt before and I swear my eyes roll into the back of my head. "Christ, you're hot," I murmur. "Like the fucking sun..."

I hear voices from just outside the door, and then the door handle jiggles.

Hard and fast I move. My teeth graze her neck, and I muffle my outcry against her soft flesh. My cock jerks inside her and I thrust one more time, hard enough to push the desk forward.

The voices disappear but I'm not sure if the people are gone as I leave this earth and rocket to climax.

Ally smacks her head against the cement wall.

"Are you okay?" I ask, squeezing my hands gently against her sides.

She starts laughing. "I'm seeing stars."

Most people don't like to laugh during sex, but Ally and I seem to revel in it. Pulling out of her, I slide her panties up her slim hips. "That was me, baby. All me."

She flips around and smooths her dress, then runs a hand up my chest. "When you're inside me I see more than just stars, I see planets and comets and the Moon."

The voices are back and I'm not sure if it's the beach patrol or beachgoers, so I place a finger over her lips to remain silent.

Still laughing, she bites my finger.

Shaking my head at her, I pull my hand away to tie the string that holds my swim trunks up. When I'm done, I lean down to bite her lip and I think... so do I, baby.

So do I.


	14. Chapter 14

i'm extremely sorry for the late update. btw its laura's birthday and ross & laura reunited so i believe this calls for a celebration!

enjoy. x

* * *

Austin

The Miami Airport is becoming way too familiar.

The plane ride back was nothing like my last one, and the memory of almost joining the Mile High Club only spurs on my need to see Ally. Miami and her have somehow settled in my heart. Every time I return to New York, I feel less and less like it's home and more and more like this place is.

I look around. And around. And around. No Ally anywhere. This place isn't as big as LaGuardia, but it is big enough to attract a rather large crowd. Families are waiting for their boarding times. A suit-wearing businessman is checking his BlackBerry. Old ladies with their bags of oranges and palm tree T-shirts are hugging their grandchildren goodbye. But not a single one of them is Ally.

Finally, I catch sight of her smile and long brown hair coming up the top of the escalator and she looks hotter than fuck in a short purple dress. I haven't seen it before. It's sleeveless and has cutouts on the side. I'm already imagining dragging my tongue along the seams and eating through it to get to that sweet pussy.

I stand where I am, trying to catch my breath like a pussy myself. Just as I'm about to say fuck it all and go for her like they do in the movies, she takes off toward me. She's close to me before I can even move in her direction.

Catching her as she leaps into my arms, I twirl her around, just like every happy, sappy couple does in the movies. Shit, I'm watching way too many romantic comedies.

Loving the smell of her and the feel of her in my arms, I bury my face in her neck and breathe her in. I squeeze her hard and she squeezes me back just as tightly.

After a few moments I pull back to look at her. It has been only a week, but at the same time way too long. I have a lei around my neck that I bought in a gift shop in LaGuardia. It's for those people wishing they'd gone to Hawaii but ended up in New York, I guess. Ridiculous, right? Who'd buy something like that? Yet I found myself doing just that. I take it off my neck and wrap it around hers. "For you," I say.

She looks down at it with a grin and then up at me. "Is this your way of telling me you're hoping to get laid?"

Having missed that sense of humor and sass of hers, I pull her to me again, twirling her once more just because I want to. While doing it, I whisper in her ear, "That's the plan."

She whispers back, "I can't wait."

When I set her down, I kiss her, at first softly, then much harder. Lips. Teeth. Tongues. Hands. Bodies crushing. Now this is a scene from a movie.

"Fuck, I missed you," I tell her.

"I missed you, too. How was New York?"

"Lots of family drama and bullshit, but it was good to spend time with my sister."

I lean forward to kiss her again, but she holds me at arm's length, almost studying me. "Want to talk about it?"

I take her hand and head toward baggage claim. Due to the length of my stay, I had to check a bag. I hate having to do that. "Not especially."

"Would you?" she asks.

I let her go first and follow. "The best news is there were no confrontations with my old man. I kept my distance and he kept his. My sister was a little suspicious and started asking a lot of questions. Except for Brandon's memorial, we haven't been all together since I found out he was fucking my girlfriend."

Ally shudders.

Yanking her hand to my mouth, I kiss it. "Ex-girlfriend," I clarify. "But I did talk to him alone."

She steps off the escalator and waits for me.

"I went to see him about my trust fund, and I told him I wanted it signed over to me. Believe it or not, he did it— no argument, no questions asked about what I have planned for it."

I'd already told her about the money. How my father's parents left each of his three children a decent amount of money with a string— that we use it for investing. To make money. Not to spend on lifestyle shit. My father has been managing our accounts. What happened to Brandon's, I have no idea. Anyway, he turned it over. I have to say, I was shocked."

We walk toward the assigned baggage belt and when we get there, I turn to look at her. "Fuck, Ally, I missed you so much. All I wanted to do was jerk off to the naked picture of you, but somehow I held off."

She raises a brow. "Why?"

I raise one back. "I just knew the real thing would be so much better."

She throws her arms around my neck and whispers in my ear, "I made myself come every night thinking of you."

Every muscle in my body tenses. "No... you didn't. Did you buy a new vibe?"

"No," she laughs. "Just used my fingers."

"Fuck me," I say. "Christ, that's so fucking hot. I want to see it."

She presses that hot little body of hers against me and breathes in my ear. "Take me home quickly and while you jerk off in front of the real thing, maybe I'll show you how I did it without a vibrator."

Holy fucking shit. I lunge for the belt. I can't get my suitcase fast enough.

* * *

Taking the elevator to the garage seems to take a million years. My cock is as hard as steel and more than ready to go. A week of celibacy after a month of nonstop sex has me wishing I could hire a chopper to get us home, or at the very least, that I'd hired a driver.

Her bright blue Jeep is parked in the middle of the garage, surrounded by dozens of cars. As soon as I get in the driver's seat, it's not the car I want to start, but her.

With the uncontrollable need to feel her sweet pussy, I lean over to kiss her. It isn't intentional, but all revved up, I can't stop the reflex reaction to run my hand up her thigh. Higher. Higher still. I fucking love that she's in a dress.

Easy to get my fingers in her panties.

As soon as I touch that slick flesh, I'm a goner. I caress down the center of her wetness. Just once, I tell myself.

Ally makes a noise.

And with that sound mingling with my breaths, I have no choice but to ease a finger inside her. "So beautiful, I can't wait to be in here," I whisper into her ear.

"Austin," she says, squirming.

Removing my finger, I ease my body back into my seat but leave my hand right where it belongs. "No one is going to know, baby. Just sit back and make like we're having a conversation."

"I don't know. I don't think I can—"

I rub little circles over her clit with the pad of my thumb. I wish I could put my face in her lap and eat her like she is my last meal, attack that purple dress and rub my body all over it. Soon, I think. Soon.

"Oh, God," she moans.

"That's it, baby, just talk to me and let your body go."

Her hips start rocking to the motion of my hand.

I keep going.

The bulge in my pants is going to have to wait, though. There's no way to conceal that. Suddenly I hate that I convinced her to buy an open-top Jeep. Sorry, buddy. This is about right here, right now, and you're just going to have to wait.

She opens her legs wider for me.

Needing to get my fingers nice and wet, I start fucking her with one finger at first. Then another, and finally a third.

Her eyes glaze as lust takes her over.

Soon, I can feel her pussy clenching around my fingers, and I know she's about to shatter. "Oh, Austin. Oh, God. Oh God," she moans into the car as she comes.

Ready to move this little homecoming forward, I turn to her and lick my fingers. "Now, I'm going to get us home because this," I point down, "needs some attention."

Running her hands over her flushed face and looking more than satisfied, she smiles at me. "I can take care of you on the way home."

Don't think the idea hadn't crossed my mind. "Well, if you insist," I tell her with a wicked grin and plant a kiss on her lips before I put her Jeep in reverse.

* * *

By the time we turn onto our street, I'm feeling unbelievable. Like on top of the world and a million bucks rolled into one. No, I feel like a man who was just crowned king over his own kingdom.

I really needed that.

Although the week was drama free, it was not stress free. My sister asked me a million questions, and I hated not telling her the truth, but I couldn't tell her about our prick of a father, not right now when she's on the outs with our mom. I will not leave her without a parent to turn to. I refuse to do that.

The line of cars in the driveways of both my house and Ally's is my first clue there's a party going on. I point ahead. "What's going on?"

Ally starts laughing. "Trish broke up with Trent, and this is her way of mourning the relationship."

"With a party?" I ask, scratching my head.

"Well, she told me she was going to cook food for Dez and invite a few people."

"A few people," I laugh. "This might be the whole town."

"You know Trish— go big or go home."

With a laugh, I drive past our houses, turn around, and then end up parking at the very end of the street. So much for getting Ally into bed ASAP. At least I won't have a dick of steel throughout the night.

Leaving my shit in the car, I open her door and steal a kiss before grabbing her hand. "Did Trish finally have enough of Trent's fucking around?" I ask.

Her head swings toward me. "You knew?"

I draw her closer. "Not for certain, but all the signs were there. Then again, she seemed cool with a no-strings relationship. That's why I didn't say anything."

The sidewalk glistens with speckles of sand as we walk down it. "Yeah, well, she was ready to be exclusive, and he wasn't, so she broke up with him."

"Good for her," I say.

"Oh look." Ally points to the red Mercedes convertible in the driveway. "Valentina is here."

Trish's mother has to be one of the coolest women I know.

Ally is excited and hurries past the open gate and into the open front door.

Hand in hand, we make our way through the crowd. Music is playing. Everyone Trish and I work with is here. Beer bottles are everywhere. Bottles of wine, too. Quite the last-minute party.

"I don't see Trish or Valentina," Ally tells me just as we walk into the kitchen and see Dez, notebook tucked in front pocket like he thought he might be able to write.

Dez has a bowl of something nasty-looking in his hand. "What the hell is that?" I ask him.

"Curried chickpeas," he answers around a mouthful of mush.

And then it hits me, the smell of curry all around us. "Dude, that's just nasty."

"No, it's really good. Here, try," he says, shoving the bowl my way.

I shove it right back.

Dez offers it to Ally.

She looks horrified. "Ummm... no thank you."

That look has me cracking up. "Not a fan either?"

"No way. Just the smell alone grosses me out."

"I think I love you," I tell her, not realizing what it is I've said until Dez practically drops the bowl in his hands. "I mean because you're so much like me," I clarify, even though it's not true. I just love her.

Ally stares at me.

I stare back and say nothing to smooth over the awkwardness I created.

"How about a drink?" she asks.

Me, I don't know what the fuck to do, so like a dumbass, I say, "Yeah, sounds good."

"Dumbass," Dez mutters.

Ally walks over to the fridge and tosses me a beer, and then tosses one to Dez. Pouring a glass of wine, she stares out the window.

"Damn, bro, I think I like her more than you," Dez says, setting his bowl down to open his bottle. "At least she knows how to handle an awkward situation. If you love her, tell her so for real— don't make light of it."

"You're giving me relationship advice?"

"Yeah, I am, dude, because you need it."

When I glance toward Ally, she's walking out the door.

I'm on her heels. "Where are you going?"

"I saw Trish and Valentina in your kitchen. I'm going to find out what's going on."

"I'll come with you." I grab her hand and take the lead, using the path to get over there, which is not only faster than the beach but more private, too.

About halfway down the stepping-stone pathway, I stop and push her up against the house. "I know we never talked about what this is happening between us, and I have no idea how you feel about me, but I meant what I said. I know I played it off like I didn't, but I did. I love you, Ally. I love you." I grab her face between my hands. "I love you."

When she says nothing, I start to think she doesn't feel the same about me as I do about her. I put myself out there, and I get nothing. Nothing. I should be okay with it. But I'm not. I break away from her and stare at her. I don't know why, but I start moving away from her.

She's standing there motionless.

I keep moving.

Just as I reach the end of the path leading to Trish's backyard, she comes rushing for me. "I love you, too, Austin. I love you, too."

Stunned, shocked, and feeling like the luckiest guy alive, I stumble, and we both tumble to the ground. Me on my back, her on top of me— right where she belongs.

Her lips crash down to mine, and I take the back of her head and thread my hand through her hair. Teeth clashing. Lips melding. Mouths crashing.

Clapping is what pulls us apart.

We both turn our heads.

Dez is standing there. "Bravo, that's the way they do it on TV, man. I'm so fucking proud to call you my best friend."

"Fuck you," I tell him and get to my feet, bringing Ally with me.

"Anytime, buddy, anytime." He laughs and walks away.

Crying from the open kitchen window of my house takes our attention away from our admissions of love and back to where we were headed before it all started.

Ally looks up at me, and I give her a nod. She takes off and I follow her.

In my kitchen, Trish is looking slightly shaken and her mother is holding her hand, trying to calm her down.

"Is everything okay?" Ally asks.

I close the door and stand behind her.

Ms. De La Rosa is a beautiful woman, short with black hair just like Trish's. And she is always dressed just to the nines. Today is no different. She's wearing a black suit and high heels.

She smiles at Ally. "Hi, Ally." She lets go of Trish's hand to hug her.

"Hi, I didn't know you were coming," Ally says.

"It wasn't planned. I just wanted to talk to both you and Trish before anything is made public."

"What is made public?" Ally asks, her voice full of worry.

"Hi, Austin." Ms. De La Rosa waves.

I clear my throat. "Hi, Ms. De La Rosa. I'll leave you three to talk."

"No, it's fine. You can stay," she says.

I look toward Ally, and then Trish.

Both of them nod, letting me know it is okay to stay.

"Please, sit down," Valentina says.

Once we are all seated, she sits too. "I already told Trish about this, Ally. Simon Warren is in financial trouble. I don't know what's going to happen, but I am going to stick it out with them, and that means I may have to move back to New York City."

"Mom, I already told you, I think you should take some time to consider this. You hated it when we lived there." Trish's voice is soft. "Take what I have left in my trust. You can use it to hold you over until you find a new job."

Ms. De La Rosa has tears in her eyes. "I appreciate that, but I can't. That is your money, and someday you might need it. I don't want you to worry about me, mija. I'm going to be fine."

Both Ally and Trish get up and wrap their arms around her. "We know you are," I hear Ally whisper in her ear. "You're the toughest woman I know."

* * *

About ten minutes later, everyone seems to have calmed down enough to head back to the party.

Ally grabs the wine bottle she opened earlier and a Corona from the refrigerator. "Come with me," she says.

I follow her up the stairs and into her room.

Once inside, she peels off that purple dress and then she removes her panties and bra, followed by the lei I'd given her. "This is who I am," she says.

My eyes take her in from head to toe. "I know who you are," I tell her.

"I like things neat. I'm quirky. I do not like to try new foods. I cross my t's and dot my i's, always. I have weird phobias. I always wonder what if. I hate sleeping in and like to go to bed early."

I look into her eyes and see everything in her gaze. Fear. Hope. Pride. And love. Heat, too. That so familiar and welcome heat. I walk toward her. "I love you," I tell her softly. "I love everything about you."

She lets out a breath, as if she'd been holding it. "I love you, too, but I think I should also tell you I don't think I can ever let you in the back door."

Nothing can stop the rip-roaring laughter that bubbles out of me as I lift her and swing her onto the bed. "That's okay, baby. As long as I can go in the front door, that's all I need."

She's all I need.


	15. Chapter 15

i'm extremely sorry for not updating as much! i promise i will make it up to you.

also, this chapter isn't that interesting but i needed something to happen.

enjoy & thank you for your reviews!

* * *

Ally

It feels like all I did was blink and summer is already coming to an end.

My songs aren't getting the attention I thought they'd get from aspiring artists. And even though I had enough money saved for the summer, I became more and more nervous about my future. The Miami carefree lifestyle must exist only in the movies. I ended up take the job Eric had offered, I manage the business, and Eric has even allowed me to showcase a few of my own designs.

Trish has been taking as many extra shifts at the lifeguard station as she can to preserve her trust, should her mother need it. Sadly, Simon Warren is not in any better shape than it was, even with Valentina running retail operations in New York. There's a very real possibility that by the year's end the company will be closing its doors for good.

Aside from that, things are going amazingly well for me, except for one small issue... I'm late.

I turn to Austin. "I can't sleep."

He runs his fingers through my hair with a sigh. "Ally, baby, I love you, but you are driving me insane. The fifteen home tests we took were negative. The pregnancy test at the doctor's office was negative. Stop thinking about it. You are not pregnant."

I rise onto one elbow. "I know, but I'm late. I'm never late. What if the blood work from the doctor's office comes back positive? What if I am pregnant? What if they say it's twins? Or triplets? What if we're the next Jon & Kate Plus 8? We're not ready for something like that."

Austin is looking seriously ill. "Listen, go to sleep and stop worrying. Tomorrow will come soon enough and then you'll stop all this craziness."

Flopping onto my back, I stare at the ceiling. I know Austin is as worried as I am. He's trying not to show it, but I can tell.

What if... I am?

What if... he can't handle it?

What if... I can't?

What if the fact that I want to eat pickles right now is a sign?

What if...

* * *

Early the next morning, I wake up to the muffled sound of vomit coming from the bathroom. At first I think it's morning sickness, then I realize that would have to be me in there, not Austin.

I listen and then I hear the toilet flush and the water in the shower turn on. The water runs for such a long time that I'm about to get up and check on him when it turns off.

Minutes later, Austin comes into the dark room and slips into bed behind me, naked.

"Are you okay?" I ask over my shoulder.

He smells minty, like mouthwash. "Yeah, I'm fine. Trish's eggplant Parmesan must have upset my stomach. I'll be okay."

"Can I get you anything?"

"No," he answers, pulling me close to him. "All I need is you."

"I'm always here."

"Right now," he growls. "I want you, right now. I want to spread you open and fuck you until dawn."

Dirty, dirty boy.

Desire explodes in my stomach as those rough words hit me. "Oh, God, Austin, me too."

Anything to distract me.

The muscles in his upper body ripple against my body and he rolls me over so he can squeeze my breasts and bite the tips of them. I can't help but wonder if the sensitivity I feel when he does it is due to pregnancy. Maybe my breasts are swollen and achy. I'm not sure. No, I think they are. Then he bites at my nipple again and I think no, they feel the same.

 _Get out of your head, Ally. Get out of it. It's dangerous in there. Take advantage of this distraction._ I know Austin is thinking the same thing I am. If we fuck until the doctor's office calls, it will lessen our worry.

I allow him to consume me with his mouth. Within moments, my bones feel like they have disintegrated inside his body. Like we are one.

"Do you want my cock in you?" he asks roughly.

Yes. Yes. Yes. The place between my legs burns and yearns for him. My voice is achy and needy, full of arousal. "I want you to fuck me... hard," I breathe.

He exhales a shaky breath. His thumb scrapes my lips, runs down my jaw, circles the hard points of my nipples. "You sure?"

"Austin," I say, my heart squeezing in need as I close my hands around his cock. "Fuck me, now, or I'll fuck myself."

A low, rumbling growl rips up his throat as he turns me around. "Ally," he rasps, rubbing his cock against my entrance. "I want my hands all over you, and my cock inside you, and after I make you come so hard you see stars, I'm going to run my tongue all over your hot little body, and then I'm going to rub it for hours against your clit."

That dirty, dirty boy.

"Oh, God, Austin." My clit throbs between my thighs as I press my ass into his cock.

"Harder," he huskily demands, and when I ram myself against him, there's a slight pain that soon becomes a feeling of unbelievable pleasure.

"Again?" I ask, waiting for his command.

"Harder," he says again and this time, it sends prickles of excitement racing through my veins.

We move. Harder. Faster. More intensely than we ever have.

While one hand is squeezing my breast tight, the other is rubbing my clit. "Oh, fuck," he cries.

"Oh, God, I'm coming. I'm coming," I moan in unbelievable pleasure. My body is leaving this planet like a rocket and going into outer space. Comets, planets, the stars and moon are all I can see.

Before I've come back to earth, as promised, Austin is flipping me over and running his tongue all over my chest, licking my nipples, sliding down farther and capturing my sex in one giant swoop.

My hands on his hair press him to me.

He pushes my knees up and soon he's lifting me with a hand on my ass. "Stay like this," he orders.

Kegels. I'm doing Kegels.

And he's feasting on me, licking me, sucking me.

Oh, God, it feels so incredibly good.

Like his tongue should be illegal.

As if knowing my thoughts, he runs that tongue from my sex all the way up the crease of my ass. Swirls it around and around that forbidden zone, and then licks his way back down.

Rising on his palms, he licks his lips and his eyes twinkle in mischief. "You taste so fucking good."

My pulse is beating frantically in my throat while the heat he's kindling inside me starts to blaze like an inferno.

Austin doesn't hesitate as he swoops back down and sends me to Mars, Jupiter, Venus, and Uranus, over and over and over.

"Austin, I can't, I can't, no more," I cry out as he brings me to orgasm again.

Looking up at me, he wipes his mouth with a grin.

"Austin," I breathe, "it's my turn. I want to kiss you... down there."

His grin is wicked and he flops on his back, his cock sticking straight up in the air.

The sight of him like this flames my need. "I'm going to eat you all up, and after you come all over your belly, I want to slide on top of you and roll around in your desire."

And that's exactly what I do.

* * *

An hour after waking, we are both beyond spent and sated.

Looking down at myself, slick and tender and swollen, I inhale sharply. "I think I'm going to ache for days."

His voice gentler than it has been, his hand cups my sex, gently caressing it. "I'll make sure that doesn't happen."

I turn to look over at him. "I'm sure you will."

As we pant and lie there trying to recover, I cuddle up to him, kiss his lips, and feel his skin, hot and hard, against mine. We share a connection that I hope never breaks. No matter what happens.

He's quiet for a moment, then softly, tenderly, says, "Everything is going to be okay, Ally."

There's an ache in my chest that I want to rip out of me, but it's so deep, I could tear my heart out and it would still be there.

It's guilt.

What if... I am pregnant?

What if...

The what ifs are back.

I rest my head on his chest and revel in his scent.

A knock on my door has me jumping up.

I must have fallen asleep.

I look at the time— eight in the morning.

"Ally," Trish calls.

I look down at Austin, who is just waking again as well.

"Come in," I tell her, pulling the sheet and comforter up and over us.

The door opens and she's standing there with Jace, her new boyfriend, right behind her.

"What's going on, Trish?" I ask.

In her striped tank top and Christmas tree shorts, she rushes to the bed with her phone in her hand. "You have to see this."

I blink a few times and reach for my glasses on my nightstand. "By any chance can you show me later?"

Shoving her phone in my face, she sits beside me. "No. This cannot wait."

Austin lies there and watches us, slightly amused.

I put my glasses on and take her phone. On it is a video of the famously known Taylor Swift singing one of my songs. "Oh, my God, I wrote that."

Happy as pie, she shrieks, "You're famous! You're famous!"

Austin sits up. "Let me see that."

I hand him the phone. He gives a low whistle.

"Jace." Trish snaps her fingers.

In a pair of heart-covered boxers, he strides over to Trish with her laptop in his hand and gives it to her. She takes it. Hits a few keys and shoves it toward me.

With one hand holding the sheet up, I take it with the other. It's the website that I created when I first arrived in Miami, and there are over ten thousand orders in the "to be processed" box.

No way.

No way.

No fucking way.

I think I might faint.

Wait! Is that a symptom of pregnancy? If so, forget I thought that.

"And," Trish says, hitting a few more keys, "these are messages from people. I hope you don't mind, but I read a few. They're from musicians who want to work with you. Can you believe it? How cool is that?"

Austin hands Trish her phone and puts his head on my shoulder. "Holy fuck, that's a lot of emails."

Just then my cell phone rings.

I freeze as Austin reaches for it.

I look at Trish and give her back the laptop. "I need to take this. Let me get dressed and I'll come downstairs."

She pops up. "Hurry up. I don't have to be to work until ten and I want to read the emails with you. I'm so excited for you. You're going to be the next Sia; I just know it."

Wow. Just wow.

This is surreal.

My cell is still ringing as Austin hands it to me. "Thanks, Trish," I tell her and then answer the phone. "Hello."

My heart is beating out of my chest.

This phone call might change my entire life.

"Hi, Miss Dawson?"

I put my phone on speaker. "Yes, this is she."

"This is Dr. Solomon's office. We have your test results."

"Yes, what are they?" I suck in a breath.

I can see Austin clenching the sheets.

"The blood work came back negative. You're not pregnant."

"But I'm almost ten days late, and I'm never late."

"The doctor understands that and attributes it to possible stress."

My job has been stressful in that, to be honest, I really don't like it.

"Thank you," I tell her and we hang up.

Austin looks incredibly relieved, and so I am. Someday I want to have a baby. Just not right now.

"False alarm." I smile at him. "Looks like TLC will have to wait for their new Jon & Kate Plus 8."

Austin doesn't find my humor very funny.

Not at all.


	16. Chapter 16

Austin

I never thought I'd be more than happy to say my girl is on the rag, but my girl is on the rag.

Finally, Ally got her period yesterday.

Twelve days late.

Because of our scare, she and I have decided to go back to using condoms for a while and I promised to find the best choices for her.

Thinking she might be pregnant was a stressful time, but it kicked me into gear. Time to get back on track. Get my head in the game, and all that shit.

That is, if I can.

I'm worried about the hows, wheres, and whats to do. I'm worried about making a wrong decision. I'm worried about blowing my trust fund and having nothing.

Today is my day off, but instead of working on my own plan, I spent the first part of the morning doing what I always do on my days off— talking to some of the guys who own local businesses and helping them assess their issues.

When I get back home, I start to get this itch, like it's my time.

Kicking into gear, I grab my laptop and start to do some research, punch some numbers, and try to figure out if what I have in mind is the right move.

I want to buy my first company, but I'm not sure the one I'm looking at is the right choice. I make a quick call and plan to visit the company tomorrow. I think I'll see if Dez wants to tag along.

Pushing away from the table, I look around my kitchen and rub my hands on my shorts. All of a sudden I'm feeling a lot of pressure for no fucking reason at all. I think I need a break, so I decide to take a walk on the beach.

Trekking through the sand, I find myself breathing in and exhaling the salt air. Being inside for all those hours has worn on me. Looking out into the clear blue of the water, I feel a little better now. Out of nowhere I have an urge to hit the waves, so after I change into my wet suit, I grab my board.

There's a weightlessness that exists as I move quickly— up and down, hovering over the water. I gain speed and it's thrilling, exhilarating, liberating even. When I break through its ledge, I position myself on the peak. It's large and hollow and I have to move forcefully to stop from getting caught in the lip, but I do it and just like that, I'm riding the best fucking wave.

The sun rises higher off in the horizon and there's a haze hanging in the air as I enfold myself inside the wave's whorl. I look ahead and can't help thinking that for the first time in the past year, I'm focused, I have no doubts, and I know what I want to do.

It hasn't been easy. It's been a long road. Grief definitely took hold of me. Blinking my sad thoughts away, I look up as the swell emerges from more than fifty-foot depths and I watch as the silver-tinted waves of the Pacific roll in at a lightning-fast rate. Then I ride them out like a master. Well, not really, maybe more like an apprentice. Especially when I take a fall and have to swim to the surface.

Up on my board again, I give it another try. I take a full breath, all the way from my stomach to my chest, tilt my head back to open my lungs, and take in more air until the water cascades all around me and once again I'm completely submerged. Time stands still while I swim through the blur of the ocean and toward the light. I reach the surface and blinking, I see more than the clear day. I can see a future.

Chest to board, I paddle in and watch the shore come alive in the early afternoon hours. As I scan the beach, my eye catches a familiar sight off in the distance. I strain to make sure it's her. Cupping through the ocean faster, I pick up speed and hit shallow water. I can't help grinning at the sight of her.

Last night I was pissed as hell at her for arguing with me about what she should do about her songwriting business. She was nervous; she couldn't calm down. If I suggested proceeding, she thought I meant that she stop. If I said yes, she heard no. I get that it was her nerves. In my current state of mind, though, I found it to be so damn frustrating.

But seeing her now, all the frustration just slides away because the sexy, smart, and funny-as-hell girl is waiting for me. Waving a hand in the air, I shake the water from my hair and tuck my board under my arm.

"What are you doing here?" I yell as I emerge from the water.

"We have a lunch date, remember?" she responds, shading her eyes with her hand.

"Right." I smile with a laugh.

She narrows her eyes. "Did you forget?"

"No. I just lost track of time."

That face she makes tells me she's not sure I'm telling the truth.

I am.

And I'm not.

I didn't quite forget.

Or I didn't mean to.

I got caught up in my business ideas.

That's all.

Letting my guilt go, I allow my gaze to sweep the length of her and once my body stops humming in desire, I curl my fingers over my mouth to stifle my laughter at that mad face she's making. "Hey, you look great," I tell her.

She's wearing a flowered green dress with gold straps. She's also wearing sparkly sandals. It's as if she could light up the whole beach, just like seeing her is lighting me up.

As I close the distance, I feel that same feeling I do every time she's around. It's in the way she looks at me. Angry or not, her alluring features are all I can see— the long strands of her hair blowing in the wind, her perky tits popping out from her form-fitting top, the slight curve of her hips, and fuck me, the smile she gives me without knowing she's smiling. Then again, if she knew she was smiling, I doubt I'd be getting one. You see, I was an ass last night. I have some making up to do.

Kicking the sand up beneath my feet, I allow my gaze to focus on hers and try to tame the thudding of my pulse. It isn't easy.

When a cool breeze presents itself on the shoreline, I stop on my heels and dig my board into the sand. Then I unzip my wet suit and move a little closer. "Want to go for a swim?"

She frowns at me. "I have to get back to work, Austin. I can't go swimming now."

I know she's not trying to make me feel guilty that I have a flexible schedule and she doesn't, but I do. I run my hand through my hair. "Let me get changed and we can go anywhere you want."

With a step toward me, she smiles what I know is meant to be a real smile, and then she kisses me on the lips. "You stay out here and have fun. I'll grab something quick on the way back to work."

"You sure?"

She nods. "Yes. How about dinner instead?"

And then just like that, wet or not, I grab her face. Our mouths meet, our tongues collide, and we breathe each other in. We kiss with a hunger that I'm almost certain can never be satisfied. Time slips away as our hands move freely, roaming over each other in ways they shouldn't in a public place.

Then just like that, she breaks our connection. My mind is whirling with how much I want her, right here, right now. The beach is fairly secluded, even if it's not private. Yet I know better than to risk it.

"Come inside with me," I whisper.

She steps back and straightens her dress, now a little wet. "I can't, Austin. I have to get back to work. How about tonight?"

With a sigh, I answer, "I can't. I told Oscar I'd meet him for dinner and look over his expansion plans."

"Oscar Trivo from Trivo Furniture in the Village?"

I nod.

"What are you, Miami's unknown Chamber of Commerce?"

I rest my forehead against hers and grab her fingers, lacing our hands together. "He asked for my help," I say, and kiss her once more. She's not wrong. I do spend a lot of time helping others. Nothing wrong with that, but it is time to work on me.

"Lunch tomorrow then?" she asks.

With a lick around her lips, I find her ear. "Yes. Lunch tomorrow. And I can always come over tonight when I get home, you know."

She kisses me back. "I'd love that, but I have to get up early, so I really should go to bed early."

After I press my lips to hers one last time, I pull back. "Lunch tomorrow it is."

Walking backwards, she waves at me. "See you then."

I wave back and get this odd feeling, like there is something wrong between us that I can't quite get a grip on.

I don't know if it's big or small.

It started with the baby scare, but it didn't end when we found out there was no baby.

All I do know is that I need to find out what it is before it's too late.


	17. Chapter 17

Ally

The list is complete.

I've checked all ten things off and I really do feel like a newer version of myself. Although thinking about it, about my state of mind after I found Elliot with that hooker, I have to wonder if I really needed the list to reinvent myself or just some time on my own.

There were so many things wrong with Elliot and me that I had become focused on those wrong things. I just couldn't see that we weren't perfect for each other because I wanted perfect so much. I wanted a family. To belong to someone. To be loved. And he had what I wanted. Offered it to me. Elliot was really close with his family, and I loved that about him. I loved them. They loved me too. But he always put them before me. He put almost everything before me. Normally, it wasn't a problem, but sometimes it was.

His constantly being late also bothered me. As did the fact that he would forget to do about half of the things he said he would. Nothing big. Just little things, like he'd say he'd pick up ice cream for after dinner and show up at my place without it. Tell me he'd bring me coffee in the morning and never show up. When we'd talk later, he'd tell me he got called into work. Maybe it was true, maybe not. I could never tell.

The sun is hot in the bluest of skies today. The air is warm. And palm trees are swaying back and forth. I really do love it here.

As soon as I turn the corner, I spot Austin's mop of blond hair. He's sitting at an outdoor table at the café around the block from my work, just like he told me he would be doing today at noon when we firmed up our lunch plans, but he's with Dez.

"I don't know, man, but I'd say that's an easy one," Dez says to Austin, removing his dark sunglasses. His light blue eyes almost disappear as he squints against the sun.

"You're a lot of fucking help," Austin says in return.

"What's easy?" I ask as I approach Austin from behind.

His head snaps around. He looks a little guilty about something. Ever since the pregnancy scare I have felt that something's going on. My mind might be reading too much into everything, but I can't stop myself. He seems to be pulling away from me. And after his forgetting lunch yesterday, all I can think about is how everything started to fall apart with Elliot just in this way. Small things that at the time meant nothing, but they should have been seen as signs.

"Hey, there you are." Austin stands up.

I glance over at Dez to see if he'll answer, but obviously he isn't going to either.

"Sorry I'm late," I say.

"You're not late," Austin says, lowering his head.

I turn my cheek so his kiss lands on it. I have no idea why I do that.

His eyes sweep me in my short skirt and jacket and I know he has sex on his mind. He always does. Not that I don't, but I'm also starting to feel that maybe we're overly focused on it. That we need more balance. He didn't come over last night, but he did call me, and so we had sex— phone sex, but sex nonetheless.

"What? Does my breath smell?" he jokes, and pulls my chair out.

Feeling guilty for transferring my old feelings from Elliot onto him, I resolve to stop it. So when he leans down to place my napkin on my lap, I whisper, "You do smell— good enough to eat."

I'm full of mixed signals and even I know it. If it's driving me crazy, it must be driving him crazy. I should tell him— tell him how I feel so he knows. And then we can approach whatever is going on together.

I will tell him.

Soon.

"Hey Dez, I didn't know you were coming."

"Yeah, Austin and I have this thing to take care of this afternoon— hope you don't mind."

It could be my imagination, but I swear Austin just kicked him under the table.

"No, not at all," I say.

Thing.

What thing?

Austin squeezes my hand and leans over to kiss me again.

Dez sits there with his notebook in front of him and an amused look on his face.

Austin rolls his eyes. "What?"

"You're different when you have a girlfriend."

Austin shrugs, or maybe flinches, I'm not sure. "No, I'm not."

Dez opens his notebook and jots something down, then looks up. "You are. It's good, man, though. It's all good. In fact, I'm using you both as my muses for my screenplay."

"Whatever, dude," Austin comments.

Dez shrugs and then waves the waiter over and points to the menu. "Three to start."

"I'll get those right away, sir," the waiter answers.

"Wheatgrass shots," says Austin. "What kind of restaurant is this, anyway?"

My gag reflex kicks in. No way am I drinking one of those. "Raw food," I answer, turning around and pointing to the sign under the name. "You picked it, so I assumed you liked it."

He shakes his head no. "Dez suggested it."

I feel a little more deflated. This was our lunch date and he let someone else pick the spot.

 _Stop it, Ally. It's no big deal._

Austin opens his menu. "Kale chips, sunchokes, seawitch? Are you kidding me? What kind of food is this?"

Ignoring him, I look at my own menu. "I haven't eaten here. What's good?" I ask Dez.

Austin bursts out laughing. "Let's just say whatever you order, you'll want an early dinner."

I glare at him again.

He tosses me a questioning look as if he doesn't know why I've reacted that way. Especially since he knows I talk about Trish and her food choices all the time. Again, I don't know why I reacted that way either.

"Speaking of dinner," I say. "I was thinking we could try to cook something together, like we've talked about."

"I can't, Ally, I'm sorry," he says, "but I don't think I'll be back before nine tonight."

"Oh, right," I say, "you and Dez have a thing."

Dez looks uncomfortable.

I don't want him to be, so I smile and make like all is good. Like I used to do with Elliot.

Conversation during our meal is mostly about my songwriting. I feel like I'm doing most of the talking. Austin seems preoccupied. Even with Dez here, it feels strained and once we've finished eating, I feel a little impatient to leave and I stand up.

"Where are you going?" Austin asks me.

"I have to get back to work."

"I'll walk back with you."

"I have some stops to make. I'll catch up with you later," I tell him.

I don't have stops.

I want him to insist he walk me. Lame, I know. I want to feel like he's putting me first. Lame again, I know.

"Okay." He lowers his head to kiss me.

Again I turn my cheek.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he whispers.

"Nothing. I just have a lot to do. See you, Dez," I say, and turn and walk away. Tears leak from my eyes and I can't stop them.

Okay, late PMS must be so much worse than normal PMS.

Right?

Don't answer that.

It has to be.

* * *

Austin

I'm on the fence.

Worried as fuck to pull the trigger.

Punching numbers, plugging in costs, estimating marketing, determining profits. It all seems like such a crapshoot.

When my cell rings, I don't even look to see who it is when I answer it. "Hello."

"Austin, it's your father."

I freeze.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

I should have looked at my screen.

I shouldn't have answered.

He clears his throat. "I'm calling because that money I transferred to you more than two months ago is still sitting untouched in the holding account."

Fighting back my fury, I slam my laptop down. "And..."

"And, as a businessman, you know leaving that much money in a non–interest-bearing account isn't good business. I'd like to send you a list of companies you might consider investing in."

Clenching my fists, I fight back the urge to say, "Fuck you," and instead keep quiet.

"Austin, are you there?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Listen, son, I know you're angry at me and you have every right to be. What I did was wrong, but don't waste your life because of it. It's time you stand up and become a man."

The fact that he is right only irks the living shit out of me. When Ally and I thought she might be pregnant, it wasn't having a child that worried me; it was how the fuck I was going to be able to take care of one. Take care of both Ally and our child. That's what terrified me. I need to get a real job.

He goes on. "I know Brandon didn't have what it took to make it in this business—"

Anger swoops through me, and I cut him off. "Don't you dare mention his name, not like that. Everything Brandon did, he did to make you proud, and because it was never good enough for you, he needed an alternate reality. He shot needles in his veins to forget who he was, to forget that he was your son. You might not have handed him that last needle, but you were the reason he used it. So you don't get to talk about him."

The line goes dead and I know I pushed him too far this time.

Good.

It had to be said.

Minutes pass and regret settles in.

I don't really believe that.

Not anymore.

I've come to accept that Brandon's fate was his own, and the life he lost was his own to lose. It doesn't mean I won't miss him. Or that I don't love him. Because I do. It just means I know there is no one to blame.

Fury rips through me at what I did. I punch the wall. I shouldn't have said that to my father. No matter how much I hate him, I shouldn't have said that.

Finding a bottle of whiskey, I pour a drink, then another, and another, too.

Shoving it aside, I lay my head down and close my eyes.

Fuck my life.

When the door opens, I barely hear it.

"Austin?" Ally calls from the living room.

With my head still down on the kitchen table, I slowly lift it. I have no idea how long I have been sleeping, but the pool of drool below me tells me quite a while. When she appears in the doorway, I try to make it seem like I'm fine. "Hey." My words are only slightly slurred.

She comes rushing forward with some rather large file folders and her date book, which is never far from her side. "I'm so glad you're home. I need some help. I can't decide what to do." Her voice is frantic and her words come so fast, I can barely comprehend them.

I rub a hand down my face. "Slow down. What are you talking about?"

Sitting next to me, she starts going through the items she just set on the table. "The song orders!" she snaps, like I'm a mind reader and should have known.

Slow at the draw, I ask, "What about them?"

Her face creases and little lines of anger appear on her forehead.

I consider reaching over and smoothing them with my finger.

"Austin," she says loudly.

No, I don't think she'd like that.

Those lines have rearranged themselves around her mouth now because she's pursing her lips. "How could you forget? We talked about all of this yesterday at lunch."

I cock my head to the side. "How about you remind me?"

Fuck me, but with the state of mind I'm in, I can't remember my own name right now.

Not giving me an inch, she huffs a frustrated sigh. "I have to decide what kind of people I'm giving my songs to."

Oh yeah, now I remember. The thing is, my head was already pounding and now it's spinning with her issues and my issues all mixing together. "Ally, I already told you the first rule of business is never turn away business."

She starts rattling on about the same things we discussed yesterday. Blah blah blah.

I push my fingers through my too long hair.

Shit, I need a haircut.

Blah, blah, blah. How long it takes to make each song.

I already know all of this. "Ally," I interrupt. "Just tell me a fucking date, and then I can help you decide the best action."

Those beautiful hazel eyes narrow at me. I've seen it before, and trust me, there is no calm before the storm. "Why are you acting like such an asshole?"

That's it. I've been patient, but we've done this dance before. "Why are you acting like such a bitch?"

Ally stomps to her feet.

Fuck, I regret it the minute it comes out.

Hurt is in her eyes and red is painting her face. "Go to hell."

Her words stun me. "Ally!" I shout, jumping to my feet. "I'm sorry, but I have my own shit to deal with right now."

She grabs her things and turns away, toward the window. Bars of afternoon sunlight streak her body. "Then don't let me bother you."

I grab her upper arms. "Stop acting like this."

"Let go of me!" she screams.

"I will when you cut the shit. Just leave all that stuff and I'll look through it later. I just can't do it right now."

She shrugs out of my hold. "Forget I even asked. I'm not an idiot. I was looking for advice, not for you to swoop in and take over."

"Take over? What the fuck are you even talking about?" I yell, grabbing the folders from her. "Just let me see your projections."

In her attempt to yank the pile of folders away from me, somehow it ends up slipping from our grasps and smashing to the ground, and a whirlwind of papers cascades around us.

Ally stares at the mess.

I reach for her again, and again she shrugs away from me. "Ally," I whisper.

Entirely out of sorts, she raises her gaze to look me right in the eyes and grits her teeth. "Forget it, Austin. I don't want your help anymore."

I punch my fist into the wall and I consider pounding my head against it. "Ally, that's enough. I told you I have some shit to deal with. Cut me a break here."

Bending down to pick up her things from the floor, she looks up at me. "I can't go through this again."

"Go through what?"

"What I did with Elliot. This is him all over again."

"What do you mean, him?"

"The forgetting, the being too busy, the everything. It's Elliot all over again."

"No, it's not. You don't understand, Ally, I'm trying to figure something out."

She raises her chin. "I do understand. And you know what, Austin? When you figure it out, why don't you come find me. Until then, I don't think we should see each other anymore."

I want to explain. I should explain. I don't. "Son of a fucking bitch, will you sit down and talk about this with me?"

High color rises in her cheeks. "There's nothing more to say, Austin. I meant what I said. I'll see you around."

"Ally, I'm sorry," I say again as she heads for the door.

She ignores me.

"I'm sorry," I repeat, over and over, but she's already out the door.

What the fuck just happened?


	18. Chapter 18

hey guys i'm seriously so sorry for not updating very often (or at all) but there's literally only one more chapter after this one left! enjoy!

and thank you so much for reading. x

* * *

Ally

Things are moving fast.

Every song I have written have been sent out.

That means this is happening. Really happening. Ally Dawson will be a legitimate songwriter by the end of the year.

I quit my job the day Austin and I broke up, or took our break, or whatever it is we are doing. Just like I'd basically told him to get his shit together, I needed to get mine together, too.

As soon as I left him that day, I knew in my heart he wasn't Elliot all over again. Austin just isn't like him. I should have seen that.

Here's the thing, though: that part of himself that he buried with his brother was eating away at him. Who knows, maybe he is trying to figure himself out, maybe not. All I know is he helped me figure out who I was and I wish I could have done the same for him.

Sure, that whole awkward-turns-to-anger thing I had going on wasn't pretty, but he didn't even stay and fight for me.

I have no idea where that leaves us.

Are we are on pause?

Broken up?

Over?

I just don't know.

He took off that night for New York City, two weeks earlier than he had planned to return for his mother's wedding, and none of us have heard a word from him. I was supposed to go with him to the wedding.

Obviously I didn't.

The gaping wound in my chest is still wide open. I've typed out hundreds of text messages to him and have yet to send a single one. One day I'll compose the right message. It will be one that tells him exactly how much I love him. Which is enough to set him free. To allow him to take the time he needs to find himself. And hopefully, like the saying goes, he'll come back to me.

The container of leftover macaroni and cheese I brought home from lunch the other day is nowhere to be found. Searching amid the tofu and couscous that Trish made last night, I can't find it. Practically diving into the refrigerator, I begin to wonder if Trish tossed it out, but then I find the white foam container in all its glory and try not to leap with joy.

It's the little things that help me get through the days without Austin. Like carb-filled, grease-laden, fatty, and oh so good foods that Trish normally outlaws.

Due to my delicate state of mind, she's been easy on me. My taste buds and I appreciate it.

"Caught you," Trish scolds, shaking her finger at me.

I raise my palms surrender style and the macaroni and cheese falls to the floor.

Crap.

Crap.

Crap.

The container bounces twice, but to my amazement, it doesn't open.

Small things. Like I said. It's the small things.

I consider bending to pick it up, but wait to make sure Trish doesn't have a dastardly plan up her sleeve.

She casts a glance at the macaroni-and-cheese container by her toes, then at me. And then, because it is the small things that matter, she picks it up and hands to me.

"Thanks." I take the food and ease past her to put it in the microwave. I look over my shoulder. "Want some?"

She laughs and shakes her head before opening the refrigerator and removing a number of items I'd prefer not to name. "I'm going to make black bean burritos. There's plenty if you're still hungry after you eat that artery-clogging meal."

I give her my evil look. The one I reserve only for her.

Slapping her hand to her forehead, she looks right at me. "Right," she quips, "how could I forget— heartbroken Ally doesn't eat healthy food. Silly me."

I pick up my wineglass and throw her the finger around the glass with a smile.

She shrugs and grabs for a cutting board. "Still no word from Mr. Tall, Blond, and Broodyface?"

I shake my head. "No, and we are not talking about him, remember?"

At least she doesn't call him an asshole like she did Elliot.

"Oh, I remember," Trish says, slicing the end off an onion. Then, under her breath I hear her mutter, "And here are his balls," and the knife slices the onion in half.

Ouch! Just the thought.

For someone who didn't know how to cook three months ago, she's become quite the chef. Ginsu knife and all.

The microwave dings and I remove the container, holding it toward her. "You sure you don't want any? It's really, really good."

She shakes her head and points to the can of black beans. "These are going to be delicious, so save some room."

Pulling a fork from the drawer, I find myself laughing. Believe it or not, the laugh sounds more genuine than any I've faked over the past three weeks. "I'm sure they are, just like the tofu tacos last night."

"Those were a little overdone," she admits.

Cardboard in a soggy whole-wheat tortilla shell— there are no words to describe it.

Just as I sit down and swallow my first bite of deliciousness, the kitchen door swings open.

"Hey, beautiful ladies," Dez greets us. "Anyone up for a movie? There's a new horror flick playing in the Village," he asks.

"I can't," I say to him. "I have an early morning meeting."

Dez gives me one of his sympathetic nods. The one where I can tell he wants to talk about Austin, tell me what a stand-up guy he is but doesn't, because maybe he doesn't believe it. Or maybe he doesn't think he should. Guy code and all. They're best friends and he would never talk badly about Austin— I get it.

Then again, we all seem to be staying quiet about Austin for our own reasons. Like we are waiting for the numbness of his abandonment to wear off. The thing is, I know Dez must be in contact. Still, I don't ask, afraid of what he might say, I suppose.

Averting his eyes from me, Dez shifts his gaze to Trish. "What about you?"

Dez's eyes are watering from the onions. "I can't either— Jace is coming over later, and besides, I have to open the tower tomorrow."

Dez takes a seat next to me at the counter. "That sucks. I hate the morning shift," he says to Trish.

Having moved on to the stove, Trish turns around with a wooden spoon in her hand. "Stay for dinner. I'm making burritos."

"Sure, sounds good," Dez answers.

When Trish turns around I mouth, "Bean," and offer him a bite of mac and cheese.

Taking my fork, he chews and swallows before getting up to stride over to the fridge. It's then that I notice he is still in his lifeguard clothes. He knew we were going to turn him down. Grabbing two beers, he offers one to Trish and takes the other for himself.

Gulping a mouthful of red wine, I start to think about how he's been around a lot lately.

The pot on the stove bubbles and small pieces of bean seem to be launching like mini rockets. "Oh, shit, they're exploding," Trish cries.

Dez rushes over and turns the gas down. "The flame is too high," he tells her.

Oh, boy, does she give him the evil eye.

Almost crying from laughter, I try to compose myself when she glares at me next.

As soon as Dez sits down, I swivel my chair toward him and push my food his way. "Finish it," I tell him. "I'm full."

Honestly, I haven't been eating much lately, and not because of Trish's cooking, either. I just have no appetite.

Stuck between a rock and a hard place, Dez pushes it in front of me and covertly sneaks bites when Trish isn't looking.

"So," I say. "No hot date tonight?"

"Just you two." He grins.

"I've got a few friends who'd love to date you," Trish tells him, popping the burritos in the microwave.

Dez tilts his bottle back and casually answers, "I'm cool."

I guess that's a nice of saying no freaking way am I letting you set me up with one of your homegrown, earth-loving, save-the-world friends.

They are nice.

All of a sudden, the microwave has a white haze coming from the inside. Like it's possessed or something.

I point to it. "Ummm... T, should the microwave be smoking?"

She rushes over to it and opens the door, removing the plate with more-than-steaming-hot shells. "I guess they didn't need to be warmed up for very long," she says with a smile.

* * *

About twenty minutes later, my plate is empty, and the burritos are done. Trish grabs the food and a stack of plates. "Let's sit in the family room and eat."

I hope Dez can eat another meal.

Trish and I take the couch. Dez takes the chair.

Once we all have the exploded bean burritos with uncooked onions and overcooked shells on our plates, Trish turns toward Dez and points to him with her fork. "Now I know," she says through a mouthful of food, "that you ate Ally's macaroni and cheese. So tell me what's up with the new attitude?"

He winces after he takes a bite of his food and sets his plate down, "Believe it or not, I'm ready to grow up and figure out who Dez Wade is."

Amen, I think.

Amen.

And then I shift my eyes toward the ceiling. I don't ask the big guy up above for much, but right now I find myself praying that Austin finds himself, too.

Please, God, help me out, just this once.


	19. Chapter 19

although i said one chapter was left, i decided to add one more bit. so aside from this update, there's one chapter and an epilogue left!

thank you so much for your reviews, as always! x

* * *

Austin

Getting my shit together wasn't as hard as I thought it was going to be.

Then again, I'd been working on the plan to buy Simon Warren for the past month. I hadn't said anything to Ally or Trish in case the deal didn't pan out. I didn't want to raise their hopes about Valentina returning to Miami and then dash them. I had to do my research first. Keeping it quiet killed me, but letting them think I was still futzing around hadn't seemed like a problem.

At the time.

In hindsight, it wasn't the best plan. Ally read all kinds of wrong things into it. I could have come clean that day in my kitchen, but she was right, I needed to figure my shit out.

Obviously, Ally sensed my need to do something more and thought I was holding myself back, when really I was plunging forward. Looking into a company. Hoping to do something good, if my research proved it was the right move.

Turns out, the foundation of Simon Warren is solid. It has a huge customer base, it is bicoastal, and best of all it's cheap. The owners are looking to get out while they are still above water.

It will be the first of many companies that I buy and put back together.

With some new branding and a possible play on their name, my projections say that in two years' time Simon Warren will once again be turning a profit. Of course, it will require a lot of hard work and dedication. Good thing for me, Valentina has agreed to stay on and run retail operations. She'll have to stay in New York for the short-term, but once the company is on its feet, she'll be able to move back to Miami.

Yes, getting my shit together has kept me busy.

Before I left Miami, I stopped by the lifeguard station and gave my notice. The captain let me go without any obligations and promised me a job should I decide to come back.

From New York, I managed to find the perfect Miami record company to partner with Ally. I contacted them, told them about her, and asked them to keep my name out of it if they decided to approach her. I wasn't sure if she'd listen to them if she knew I'd been involved, even in this smallest of ways.

I also spoke with my father, and he told me that he and Brooke were over. I told him I could never forgive what he did, but someday I might be able to forget it. Someday— but not any day soon.

As for Brooke, I did call her and ask her to stop with the gifts, texts, and calls. To my surprise, she agreed to do so. Truth is, she doesn't want to get back together with me, just as I never want to get back together with her. There is a reason she cheated— together we didn't work. I think she was just looking to hold on to something that wasn't there.

Putting my sister and mother in the same room proved very difficult, but I managed to do it. They talked— a little. All I can say is they are a work in progress, and I can live with that.

And then, of course, I purchased Simon Warren, with Valentina's help.

Snap.

Snap.

Snap.

Giving my sister a show, I make a few faces that I know I'll regret later when she posts my picture all over social media like she always does. When I stop and get serious, she lowers her camera with a sigh.

"I have to go," I say.

"I'm going to miss you." Cassidy throws her arms around me. "It's been really great having you around."

I kiss her forehead. "I'll be back before you know it, and you can visit me anytime."

She and I talked about her job in detail during my trip home. According to her, she likes working for our father, and although she doesn't love her job, she's happy with it. After everything that happened with Brandon, I was skeptical at first, but staying with her, I almost believe it's true. Almost.

Either way, she's so much stronger than Brandon ever was, and I believe she will do what is best for her, when she's ready. I did tell her I'm always there for her, should she decide she wants out. For now, though, I think she wants to give it a try and I have to let her.

I still haven't told her what happened with Brooke and my father, or about our father in general. I just couldn't do that to her. Yes, she's strong, but she's fragile, too. She's a daddy's little girl, and maybe I just want her to have that.

And then of course, I told her all about Ally and how much I love her. She can't wait to meet her. That is, if Ally takes me back.

Of course, Cass had all kinds of names to call me for being so dense and not making up with Ally sooner, so I could bring her to the wedding, of which I convinced Cassidy to attend.

But I, too, am a work in progress.

I pull back and give her now more than faded turquoise strand of hair a tug. "I have to go, Cass."

She hugs me one last time. "Don't forget to call me."

* * *

With my backpack on my shoulder, I rush through security and get on the plane. Late again. It almost feels like déjà vu, minus the first class and minus Ally.

The plane is full, and I have to shove my backpack under the seat in front of me. As I take my aisle seat, image after image, memory after memory, of the summer I shared with Ally comes rushing back.

A smile tugs at my lips just thinking about her, and then that weight slams in my chest. All I can do is hope that what she said, she meant— _when you figure it out, why don't you come find me._

I'm ready, baby. I only hope you are.

I close my eyes and the moving plane lulls me to sleep. When I wake, the flight attendant is serving drinks and snacks. I'm so glad the flight attendant who was working when I met Ally isn't on board. I had to promise to take her to dinner to avoid going to the slammer. And then I gave her my number with one digit incorrectly written.

It was a shit thing to do, but reflecting back, I did it in the name of love.

Okay, done with the sappy shit, I promise.

Deciding to go over some of the divisional financials for Simon Warren, I yank my backpack out and set it on my lap.

As soon as I open it, a black photo album with silver lining pops out.

Uncertain, I pull it out. The note taped to the top reads, "This one is for you. Take care of it. With love, Cassidy."

Letting my backpack drop to the ground, I set the album on my lap and stare at it for the longest time.

"Sir, what can I get you?" the flight attendant asks.

My head snaps in her direction. "Nothing, thank you."

When my gaze shifts back down to the photo album, the inscription gets me right in the chest. It reads, "The Adventures of the ABCs."

I have to curl my hands into fists to stop them from shaking. All I can do is stare. Sweat coats my brow, I can feel my breathing increase exponentially, and I sit here, letting time pass.

Finally, I feel strong enough to open it. Slowly, I pinch the cover and even more slowly, I open it.

Staring right at me is an 8×10 color photo of Brandon and me in our "I'm a Big Brother" T-shirts, both holding Cassidy in a bundle of pink. We're smiling so wide. I wasn't even two yet, so I don't remember it, but I feel I could if I tried hard enough.

My vision starts to blur and I feel like the space in the plane has clouded over. It's as if I'm the only one here.

A strange mix of hope and fear spurs me to turn the page.

There are two photos on the page to the left. The first is of the three of us the first time we all rode the subway together. I'm not sure how old we were, but Amelia was in a stroller. Excitement fills our faces because we were going on a train ride. I don't remember that day, but I remember those matching cowboy hats and holsters Brandon and I wore. And Cassidy's pink hat and spurs. We thought we were outlaws from the West. And we were on the getaway train.

A smile tugs at my lips. We kept that cowboy gear for a long time. Cassidy would sneak into our room in her pink hat and point her finger at us. "Put 'em up, or I'll shoot," she tried to say, but never got the words quite right.

The second photo on the page is of the three of us in our Easter outfits and we have the biggest frowns on our faces. I remember this day. Brandon was seven, I was six, and Cassidy was four. Our parents had taken us to the country club for an Easter egg hunt and forgot our baskets. We were so mad at them because we had to use a plastic grocery bag. Made egg collecting very difficult.

Page by page, I find myself flipping. Smiling at the happy memories and knowing these are times that can never be forgotten.

Soon, though, I have to stop. I feel like I might suffocate. Like I can't breathe. Jumping to my feet, I tuck the album away and head for the lavatory.

Once inside, I splash water on my face and then look in the mirror. Moments later, I find myself clawing at my T-shirt to get it off. As soon as I do, I stare at the scripted B on my chest and trace every delicate line of it.

When my finger returns to where it started, I look into the mirror. "I love you, Brandon," I whisper.

I love you.

I miss you.

Now and forever.


	20. Chapter 20

Ally

Never say never.

That's all I can say.

Season five of The Walking Dead has me so nervous that I'm biting my fingernails. Seriously, do they have to make it so full of angst? I have no idea how I've managed to watch this series all by myself.

A zombie jumps out of the shadows and I scream. My pulse is racing so fast that I have to cover my head with my blanket. Honestly, I might have just had a heart attack.

Knock. Knock.

"Ahhhhhhh!" I scream even louder.

Realizing it isn't a zombie coming to get me, I release the breath from my lungs. Someone is at the kitchen door, and the sound against the glass only made my heart beat faster. _Get it together, Ally. You're a big girl. There are no bogeymen in the dark, or zombies in this case._

Maybe I can pretend I didn't hear the knock and whoever it is will go away and let me finish this episode.

Knock. Knock.

Hesitantly, I pull my head out from under the blanket and avert my attention away from the television, but it's too dark outside to see who it is.

Setting my huge glass of red wine down, I hit pause on the remote and slowly rise to my feet. I spent all day making pieces and filling orders, and I am spent.

Another rap.

"Coming," I call.

Wearing nothing but a T-shirt and panties, I wrap a blanket around me and start for the door. I flick the light on and freeze on the spot. Momentarily taken aback, it takes a few seconds before I begin to move again.

The closer I get, the faster my pulse races. There's a distinct shadow in the dark of a man that looks very familiar.

A very tall, very handsome man who shared my bed all summer.

My heart stops at the sight of Austin Moon standing there. My steps falter, my breathing picks up, my mind spins into a daze of nothingness.

He's back.

In a suit that fits his body perfectly, he looks ever so powerful. His shirt is unbuttoned at the top and his tie hangs loose. It looks like he's been doing something important.

With a million tiny butterfly wings poking at my belly, I open the door. I have to grip the knob for support and to keep my knees from buckling beneath me. I draw in a slow, silent breath of relief because there he stands, leaning against the door frame with his head down and something in his hand.

That grin he gives me lights me up from the inside. "Hi," he says.

"Hi," I say back.

Trembling.

Uncertain.

And yet so thrilled to see him.

With a smirk, he holds out his hand. In it is a measuring cup. "I was hoping I could borrow a cup of sugar."

Trying not to smile in return, I reach for the cup. "I'm not sure I have any."

"Please," he begs.

Okay he begged. I can't turn him down now. I tip my head to the side. "Since you asked so nicely, let me check."

"I'd appreciate it," he returns.

With that, I close the door. And yes, he is on the other side of it. Setting the cup down, I hold onto the blanket and pretend to rummage through the cabinets with my heart pounding and my pulse thundering the entire time.

He's back. He's here. Now what?

Seconds later, Austin knocks on the door again.

Holding back my smile, I walk over to it, and with the blanket clutched in one hand, I open it wide with the other. This time when our eyes meet, warmth floods my whole body as we grin at each other. "Sorry, I don't have any."

Slowly, his gaze ravishes my face, and every feeling he has for me blazes in his eyes. "Let me try this a different way. Can we talk?"

No.

No.

No.

Yet, instead of saying no, I nod and move aside. I just can't deny him. Honestly, I don't want to.

That long, lean body of his strides in like he never left and I almost wish he hadn't. Then I remember that we both had things we had to work out, and my stomach flips uneasily at the thought of Austin coming just to tell me he's moving back to New York.

A wariness consumes his expression and he leans against the counter. "Ally, I am so sorry," he starts, his voice gruff with emotion.

My entire body is shaking.

"I've never met anyone like you before. In fact, there's no one like you. You are everything I could possibly want and I screwed it up. I never meant to hurt you, or ignore you; I was only trying to find myself. Can you forgive me?"

"Austin," I whisper, overwhelmed that he's back, and not wanting to remember that day when both of us acted rashly.

He pushes off the counter and takes one small step toward me. "Shhh... don't answer that yet. Let me explain to you what I should have explained that day in my kitchen, okay?"

Gripping onto the blanket, I nod and swallow the tears threatening to spill.

A complex mix of confidence and insecurity stares at me. "You are the most important thing to me. I will always put you first, I can promise you that, but you were right— I needed to get my shit together. I had already figured that out. I just didn't know where to start, but I figured it out, and that's what I've been doing over the past month. I want to bring companies back to life. I bought Simon Warren and I've been working with Valentina on a plan to revitalize it."

My hands fly to my mouth and I can no longer hold back my tears. He really has been finding himself and this is what he should be doing, something he loves, what he was meant to do.

"My whole life I wanted to run a business, and I let go of that dream after Brandon died. The pregnancy scare made me realize I needed to do something with my life. And watching you going after what you wanted, it made me see my dream was still alive too. I just had to find it buried under all of that anger."

He's found himself. He's really found himself.

Austin takes a step closer, and in the small galley kitchen we now stand only a foot apart. "Ally," he says, "we've been seatmates, frenemies, book club partners, friends, teacher/student, and lovers, but I was hoping right now you could just be mine."

Tears roll down my cheeks, but there is no hesitation in my movement as I take that one step keeping us apart and fling myself at him. The blanket falls to the ground and I just don't care.

Catching me, he cups my ass and whispers in my ear, "I'm so sorry. Do you forgive me?"

"Yes, I will always forgive you. I love you," I choke out against his warm chest. "And I'm sorry too— I shouldn't have acted like that. Can you forgive me?"

In answer, Austin gently pulls away but keeps his palms right on the lacy fabric of my panties, leaning back just far enough so he can look into my face. I am without makeup, exhausted, and overwhelmed. A mess. But he stares at me like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. His voice is intense as he tells me, "I love you, too, Ally Dawson, so goddamn much."

My arms tighten around him and I never want to let him go.

Just then the pause timer from the television releases and the sound of zombies travels into the kitchen.

Amusement curls the corners of Austin's mouth. "Are you watching The Walking Dead?"

I bite my lip anxiously and gaze into his gleaming eyes. "As a matter of fact, I am."

"I knew you would cave," he laughs.

Cocky bastard.

Our eyes connect and it feels like minutes pass, but it's only seconds. That electric pull is there, stronger than ever.

I feel like I'm wearing a raspberry beret.

No, I'm Madonna dancing in all my jewels.

Better yet, I feel happy, so happy that I want to clap along.

Austin smiles— not a full smile, but that half-grin. His lush lips are begging for me to kiss him and I don't want to waste another minute as I throw my arms around his neck and crash my mouth to his. He puts one hand behind my neck and the other on the small of my back. We both open our mouths wide as our lips connect, and I feel the connection between our souls.

We kiss.

And kiss.

And kiss.

After he tosses me over his shoulder, keeping that one hand on my ass that is now inside my panties, he carries me all the way up the stairs and into my bedroom.

Very caveman of him.

Secretly, I love it.

Once inside, he sits on my bed with me in his lap and I curl my legs around him.

"I'm sorry," he whispers again.

I blow out a long breath. "No more sorrys, okay?"

He nods and his eyes light up. "I've missed you and your body so fucking much."

"This body has missed you," I purr. "I even broke down and bought a new vibrator."

"I jerked off every day to your naked picture," he confesses.

I'm glad now that I never deleted it from his phone.

I squirm in anticipation at the thought of his long, thick cock. "Oh, God," I moan. "I want you."

My T-shirt is short and his hands easily slide into my panties again and start to caress my ass.

I thought he was a boob man, but I'm starting to think he's more of an ass man. I might have to reconsider the forbidden zone. Someday.

"No condom," I tell him.

"You sure?"

"I'm fertile free right now, so let's take advantage of it."

His face twists. "I'm not sure I like the sound of that."

"Get over it," I tell him and manhandle him. Unbuttoning his shirt, I rip it off him. With the fabric open, now I get to trace the perfectly sculpted lines that outline each lean muscle. Under my palm, I feel his heart pounding. I smooth my hands all over him and then push his arms from the sleeves so that he is shirtless.

Austin puts his mouth to my ear and with a low, husky voice tells me, "Stand up and take your clothes off. I need to feel you."

His words rush through me like waves at high tide. I've never felt such an intimate connection to anyone. And because I secretly like when he takes control, I get up and get naked.

His hands are on my hips and pulling me back to his lap. With my hands on his shoulders, I look down at him.

He has the most intense bedroom eyes I've ever seen. I could melt under that gaze. It doesn't last long, though, because soon his hands are cupping my breasts and his mouth is on mine. That wicked tongue of his finds its way to mine, and as it twists and turns, all I want to do is eat him up.

After a few minutes of an intense make-out session, he lifts me off the bed, turns us around, and sets me on my feet. Kneeling in front of me, he licks his lips. Our eyes stay connected every second. Even as he guides me to the edge of the bed, even as he places my legs over his shoulders, and even as he kisses the inside of my thighs.

His eyes are still on me as he runs his fingertips up and down the backs of my thighs and places his hands behind me, pulling me closer to him. And then. Then. Oh, sweet oblivion, his face is in between my legs and his tongue is on me.

Getting right to it, he licks up my slick flesh.

Once.

Twice.

Oh, God, I'm seeing stars.

Then I have to close my eyes when his fingers open me and his tongue strokes deep inside me. There is nothing like it in the world. Category four hurricane taking place right here.

Already leaving this planet, as soon as he strokes his tongue to that area he wants me to give up to him so much, I start convulsing. My body is a trembling mess as I take off like a rocket. "Oh God, Austin," I call out, but he doesn't stop. He keeps sucking me even through my orgasm, pushing me farther. Gripping my hips tightly, he licks, kisses, and laps every inch of me. I don't even feel like my body is my own when another wave blasts through me. "Yes, oh God, yes!" I scream and when I know I have nothing left, I gently push his shoulders back. He looks up at me and I drop to the ground to sit in front of him.

I kiss him and he smiles through our kiss. "I wasn't finished. I wanted to hear you scream my name again."

"Oh you will, I promise." I unbutton his pants and run my hand inside his boxers, just needing to feel him. "Take these off," I order him. "For what I have in mind, there are no pants required."

Getting to his feet, he quickly removes his shoes, pants, and boxers and stands there looking so incredible, his taut muscles on full display. With the biggest shit-eating grin on his face, he takes my hand and tosses me to the bed. "It's time to fuck," he laughs.

Laughter bubbles out of me, but he isn't wrong— it is time to fuck. And I want to feel every inch of him, so I roll us over and hover over him. He groans and pulls me down to him. With a tongue that should be declared illegal, he traces around the shell of my ear and then whispers all the dirty things he wants to do to me for the next three days.

"Three days, that's all?" I ask.

"You're wicked," he says. "I can keep you up here until Monday, then we both have to go to work. But I want you up here, naked and waiting, when I get home."

"With your slippers and martini?" I joke.

"Preferably wet and ready for me."

"You are such a perv," I tell him, dragging my tongue down his neck, his chest, and then getting serious when I take him in my hands and gently stroke him.

That groan of his gets loud. Really loud. I worry he might alert the whole neighborhood that we are in here having sex...

Screw it! Who cares?

Hovering over him, I place a knee on either side of his legs and glide my lips down his stomach. My hands continue to move up and down his length and when my lips meet his tip, he shudders. I lose myself in the moment. This is the intimacy that I've missed. But when my mouth covers him, he pulls me up.

Crashing down onto his hard chest, I press my naked body into his and peek up at him. "Why'd you stop me?"

He lets out a sigh and another loud groan. "I want to be inside you when I come."

I move my mouth to his ear so I can whisper, "You can be."

"I will be," he growls, and then molds my breasts with his palms before moving my hips.

Elation sweeps through me as he easily slips in. His hands move to my backside, pressing me into him. When I fold my knees beneath myself and sit up, he lets out a long, tortured groan.

Control freak in bed that he is, when I try to control the pace by interlocking my fingers with his on either side of his head, he just grins and shakes his head.

That's okay. I just rock into him over and over, rolling my hips. Before long, his hands are on me. But you see, I got this.

Leaning back, I rest my palms on his knees and move slowly, rising just far enough so we both feel the thrill of him sliding back inside. With every passing moment, I sink faster and deeper but stay close. My pulse pounds with excitement. Before I know it, he's clutching my legs, focusing on my every move. Our eyes meet, and we are hypnotized by each other's expressions of pure pleasure. When I reach between us and alternate stroking and squeezing whatever flesh I can get my hands on, he groans and curses so loud I lose myself.

Continuing with this rapid pace, I feel nothing but complete bliss. The pressure builds swiftly and I am quickly on the brink of climaxing again. It's heavenly.

Unexpectedly, he pulls me to his chest and seals his lips to mine, thrusting his hips up. Breathing heavily, I know he's close. He rolls us over, never breaking our connection. Pulling my hands over my head, he takes control and it's perfect.

I watch as his body flexes rhythmically with mine. He moves faster, kissing me furiously. I'm pushed over the edge the second his tongue hits the roof of my mouth. "Oh God yes, Austin, yes!" I scream once again and he stills, shouting my name as my waves of ecstasy bring on his climax.

When we are both spent, we fall into each other's arms and cuddle close together. "I love you, Austin," I say.

"I love you, Ally. I love every single thing about you."

I can't contain my smile. "I missed you," I whisper.

He smiles at me and palms my behind. "I missed you too, and this hot little body of yours."

Feeling extremely thirsty, I reach for the open water bottle on my nightstand from last night. I can't believe I forgot to bring it down with me this morning. Oh well, turns out to be a win for me. As I rise on his hard muscles, I catch sight of our novel next to it. "Book club?" I ask, grabbing the water bottle.

Austin glances at the nightstand and grabs Summer's Ménage before I can. "Yes. We have to finish this. I'm dying to see how it ends."

"Me, too," I tell him, flopping onto the pillow beside him.

Austin eyes me. "Did you read it without me?"

"No, I swear."

He's still looking at me.

"I didn't."

"I'm going to choose to believe you because good girls don't lie," he tells me, and opens the book.

Not sure about me being a good girl anymore, but I'll go with it.

Getting cozy, I snuggle beside him. I really have missed the sound of his voice, so much caramel oozing down a hot fudge sundae.

The window is open and there's a cool breeze coming inside. Austin pulls the sheets over us and holds the book up. "It was the last day of summer, and Summer took a moment to look at the sprawling property that stood on the South Shore of Long Island. She took a cautious sip of her wine and tried not to think about going back to the city. To her life of social obligations. To her husband."

My eyes snap to the page. Did he read that right?

Austin choked out the last word. "She's married?"

"There must be a reason she goes to the Hamptons alone, though?"

"Yeah, obviously her husband doesn't meet her needs. Must be a workaholic."

I bump his shoulder. "You don't know that. Keep reading."

"The off-the-shoulder cocktail dress drew attention to her breasts, and she knew it. Tonight she would say goodbye to both her lovers. Gabe, the sinful bad boy with the "I don't give a fuck" attitude that drove her wild, and her sweet Owen, the one who made sure her every desire was met. Taking two lovers was something to think about for next summer. Would she do it again? She'd decide when the night was over." Austin pauses and looks over at me. "Told you she likes Gabe better."

I nip at his shoulder. "You do not know that. Nowhere on the page does it say that."

"Let's see who she says goodbye to first."

"Let's," I say.

Shifting on the bed, he starts to read again. "'Both Gabe and Owen were waiting for her in the dining room, in the tuxedos and cuff links that she had purchased for them."

Austin pauses and looks at me. "Would you let me fuck you on the dining room table?"

I laugh. "Sure, if we had one."

He raises a curious brow. "And you'd eat on it after?"

I rise on one elbow. "Let me think about that. I'll get back to you later."

He laughs. "You do that."

"Just read."

"Okay. Okay," he laughs. "Summer circled her men like they were prey. Looked at them. Appraised them. Waited for one to break. Tonight, neither did. Good boys deserved to be rewarded, and that's what she did. She pushed each back against the table and one at a time unzipped their pants. She ordered them to sit on the table and then bowed her head over Owen's lap. With her mouth around Owen's cock, her hand found Gabe's and she stroked him."

Austin coughs a little. "That's a lot of dick."

"Oh, God, Austin, stop with commentary— I need to know how this ends."

Austin stretches out on the bed fully and puts an arm behind his head. "Summer didn't hold back as she brought Owen to orgasm, and then Gabe. Now, it was her turn. She stripped out of her fancy dress and lay naked in the center of the table. Gabe and Owen circled her. She was theirs for the taking, to do with what they wanted. She wouldn't tell them what to do. Not tonight. It was her departing gift to them. No rules. All summer she had never allowed them both to fuck her pussy in the same night. They had to take turns. Tonight they would both get to penetrate her pussy."

"Wow," I comment, fanning myself.

"Yeah, wow," Austin repeats.

Desire fills my room as sure as the words from the page do.

Sighing, he turns the page. "Last chapter."

"Already?"

He nods and gives me a little squeeze. "The summer was over. There would be no goodbye kisses. She stood at the door as the car drove up to take the men back to town, where she'd found them months ago. Once Summer closed the door, she leaned against it and smiled. It was time to see her husband. She missed him. Bedridden and paralyzed from a skiing accident that took place ten years ago, he was still the love of her life. Unable to do anything that someone didn't do for him, he was dependent on a team of people. He hated that he couldn't satisfy her. Yet, he did just by suggesting this.'"

I bolt up with tears in my eyes. "I so didn't expect that."

Austin reaches over me and sets the book on the nightstand. "Yeah, that was... I don't know. Different than I expected."

"Good different?"

"Yeah, good different."

Emotion in my throat, I say, "I liked it."

Austin kisses me. "I'm not so sure I could be as unselfish as Summer's husband."

I look into his eyes. "I think he loves her and wants her to have what he can't give her. He knows she loves him. I think he's more secure than unselfish."

Austin kisses me again. "You know, I think you might be right."

"What?" I gasp in mock surprise.

His lips slide down my throat, and the vibration of his laughter feels so good. "Yes, I said it. You heard me. Now, moving on..." He kisses the tip of my breast. "Do you think Summer's Ménage Two is out yet?"

My head falls back. "I'm not sure, but I'll look tomorrow."

"Sounds good," he murmurs, licking around my nipple.

"I like that," I whisper. "Do it again, a little lower."

As if practicing being obedient, he obliges. Then he moves lower, and lower still, making me squirm in the most delicious way. And he doesn't stop there.

Later, when we finish for the second time, he takes me in his arms and holds me tight. Cuddled up against the heat of his body, I can't stop thinking about Summer and how completely she and her husband loved each other.

Realization dawns. I think I was wrong before. You don't love someone and set him free to see if he comes back to you.

You hold on tight and never let go.

And that's just what I intend to do.


	21. Chapter 21

well i kept you guys waiting for a while just for this epilogue, i'm extremely sorry! it means a lot to me that you guys still kept up with the fanfic even when austin & ally has been over for a year now and the fandom has been declared dead.

here's the end!

* * *

 **Two Months Later**

Austin

"Happy Anniversary to you.

Happy Anniversary to you.

Happy Anniversary, Austin Moon.

Happy Anniversary to you."

I look at Dez over the top of my dark shades. "That's how you sing the birthday song, dumbass."

He unloads the box from his shoulder onto the floor. "Fuck you, fucker," he says and adds the two-handed one-finger salute. "It's close enough."

The laughter rolls out of me. "You really should stay for Thanksgiving."

He shrugs. "Nah, I have some things to do."

"Well, if you change your mind, come over tomorrow."

His nod tells me he has no intention of changing his mind. It's the open road, his video camera, and that manuscript he's been working on for him.

It's scary how well I know him.

Hard to believe one year ago, I moved to this beach town with nothing but a duffle bag and a bad attitude. I knew one person, Dez Wade, my best fucking friend. Lucky for me he'd recently rented a house on the beach and invited me to move in with him. And even luckier for me, I did. The fucker went out of his way to help me out. He hooked me up with a job, showed me the lay of the land, and introduced me to Trish. And as they say in the movies... the rest is history.

But let's not give him too much credit or it will go to his head, and it's already big enough because of his movie-star good looks.

"Is that it?" I ask, glancing around the bedroom that used to be Ally's, but is now Dez's.

"That's it," he says, plopping on his bed. "Operation musical houses is complete."

Walking past him to the door, I slap a hand on his shoulder. "Seriously, bro. Thanks for doing this."

He slants a glance at me. "Oh, dude, you are so going to owe me for this."

I stop at the door and turn around. "Anything, anyplace— you name it."

"I'm going to remember you said that."

"My word, man." I thump my heart with my first.

I'm so fucked.

Downstairs, Trish is busy in the kitchen with her boyfriend Jace. He's actually a pretty cool dude compared to the others she has dated and Trish seems to be very interested in him.

I clear my throat. "How's that pumpkin pie coming for tomorrow?" I ask in amusement. It must have a little bit of tongue and a dash of saliva, because they are making out hot and heavy, tongues and all.

Trish breaks away from Jace. "I'm about to start it. Don't worry, I'll have it ready by tomorrow and be over with bells on to help with Thanksgiving dinner."

I stride past the happy couple. "I hope so, because it's not your bells I'm worried about." I look down. "It's mine," I joke.

"Right," she laughs. "Can you please do something to make Ally less nervous about meeting your mother and sister tomorrow? Please. I don't care what."

I twist my head around. "I have just the thing in mind."

"Go get her, tiger," Trish roars, showing me her claws.

I shake my head.

She's too much.

I wish it were that easy, though. She's nervous because I'm nervous. My sister agreed to come even with my mother and new husband coming only because they weren't staying with me. What she doesn't know is they're staying at Trish's, in Trish's room, and Trish is staying with Jace.

So that's why Ally is a nervous wreck. She wants everyone to get along.

Shit, I'm not sure that's possible.

But I have hope.

Walking up the path and around to the house that Ally and I are now officially sharing, I look into the kitchen to see her standing at the sink. Hair down. Tousled. A little messy. Wearing a tight tank top. Looking sexy as hell.

And right here, with my foot on the step, the feeling strikes.

A sense of home.

It's been a long road and a lot has happened, but yes, I'm finally home.

And it feels fanfuckingtastic.


End file.
